Feel
by She's So High
Summary: He dreaded going back to a world that didn't feel like home anymore, but at least now he had someone to talk to, someone to listen. And with the start of the new year comes the close of Part I:Feel.
1. Chapter One

Feel

By: Lady DeathAngel

Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowed for a bit.

A/N: Just a bit of introspective angst courtesy of the song that is this fic's namesake (don't own that either, btw). Um, came out of nowhere so it may seem a bit random and . . . out of nowhere. Not sure if I'll continue. Maybe I will. I kind of like this. It seems like it's hinting at Remus/Harry, which is just the road it took and was done with barely cognizant purpose. Anyway, read, enjoy and please, please, please review.

He got so tired of it sometimes. So tired of being who he was. So tired of having the weight of the world thrust on his shoulders time and again. Maybe it would have been okay if everyone hadn't tried to pretend that this _wasn't_ his fight. If only they'd told him from the start that he would have to kill Voldemort or be killed by him, that _he_ was the only one who could stop the dying and end the fear maybe he could have _handled_ it. He would have known with no pretenses of being normal, with no hopes to dash against a stone wall.

But he'd been yanked around so much in the past five years that he didn't know who to even _trust_ anymore. Dumbledore would have been the first person to go to a few months earlier. But now? He just didn't know. The man who knew everything, or so it seemed, had settled back and watched this all play out like some sort of macabre tragedy of a play and chosen the final two acts to tell them all that it didn't _have_ to be this way. All to protect the so-called innocence of the Boy-Who-Lived. Always lived.

Sirius . . . the name didn't even bear thinking. He couldn't stand it. The pain of it all, of replaying that one moment in history over and over and over again until he felt like clawing his eyes out and screaming until his lungs burst and he coughed up blood all over the pristine walls of his estranged Aunt's home. He felt, often, that people thought he deserved it. Dumbledore had all but blamed Kreacher's betrayal on Sirius when he hadn't been in that house with him for all those weeks, hearing the House Elf's mutterings. Had Sirius even _told_ him that that Elf had never liked him? That he'd never been welcome in that house and that Kreacher wouldn't have changed except, perhaps, for his dead mistress?

Ron and Hermione were his best friends. Closer to each other than to him, he sometimes thought. And they didn't _know_. He'd thought that maybe after the events at the Department of Mysteries they would realize how it felt to be the one who always had to face those sneering, masked voices alone. To be the one to face the most feared wizard of all time over and over, alone. But they hadn't. Not really. They were sympathetic about Sirius and about the prophesy. But Hermione had written an angry letter demanding he stop sulking and be strong.

_"After all, Sirius was reckless and it wasn't all _your_ fault Harry. You can't keep thinking it was."_

That was what she'd said. That it was partly Sirius' fault. Well, he supposed it was. It was as much his fault as his parents' deaths were their fault. They'd loved him and died for him. That wasn't his fault so much as their's, right?

Ron offered his condolences, but he bungled things when there was no pressure to be a good friend, and with Hermione probably beating him over the head with a proverbial stick about it all, he was even worse off.

There was still Lupin. The last living link to his family. To those who had loved and died because of that love. But God he was scared. Scared to get close to him only to lose him too. He could trust him, he knew that. He had a friend in Lupin. Where he had a father in Dumbledore and more of a brother than anything in Sirius, he had a friend in Lupin. Someone who actually felt what he felt, who mourned as he mourned. He'd seen what it was like before when Voldemort had reigned and would tell him if he asked. He cared selflessly.

He loved that. Cherished it and relished it and didn't want to lose it. That was why he didn't reply to his letters. He wrote Hermione and Ron, tried not to be bitter and angry. Tonks would send a note every so often asking after him and he would reply to those a well. They never meant anything, those replies. Stupid words on paper about Dudley's new championship medals and trophies, the Dursley's recent rat infestation and their subsequent purchase of a kitten with black hair and green eyes that had taken to Harry immediately upon his return to Privet Drive.

It made everyone happy, he supposed. To think he was coping and not doing anything stupid. They didn't know about the daily bouts of depression and his self-hatred and confusion and anger. They didn't need to know. What was the age old adage? 'Ignorance is bliss'?

But Lupin wasn't everyone. He knew. Or at least suspected. His letters were sometimes long, sometimes short, always concerned and, lately, divulging information about himself and his parents and Sirius. And the replies that Harry wanted to write he just couldn't.

He wanted to tell him all about how he felt. How he was tired of being the bloody Boy-Who-Lived. He was tired of not knowing until it was too late. Tired of killing off all his loved ones. He wanted to tell him how much worse the Dursley's were, how horrified they'd been to discover Nyx, the kitten, resembled him to the point of being his animagus if his form were a cat. He wanted to tell him that he'd been out walking and Dudley and his gang had beaten him up, taunting himthe whole time, and had told the entire neighborhood he was gay because of his nightmares and the names he called out in the middle of the night.

He wanted to tell so much because he'd never had anyone to tell except Sirius and even then he'd been reserved. He wished he'd told him more because Sirius had known what it was like to live in a house where he didn't belong and wasn't accepted and maybe he would have been properly angered by the abuse that so many, even he himself, sometimes thought wasn't that big a deal. But he'd always kept it inside and now he felt like he was going to . . . implode. He had his flashes of anger and stupidity and he wondered if it was because he kept it all inside.

But he wouldn't tell Lupin because he didn't want him worrying needlessly. He didn't want him to get attached, and more selfishly, _he_ didn't want to get attached. He couldn't bear it. Another loss for his sake and he would be gone. Utterly gone. Nothing left.

He was already so tired. Ready to just get it over with already. He wanted to walk right up to Voldemort and curse his evil soul right out if his body and straight into hell, or wherever it would go and never bother them again. Some nights he wanted to carve up his sinister, snake-like face with any sharp object that would get the job done. He wanted for everyone to let him do his job and then he wanted to disappear.

He was damn tired of being the Boy-Who-Lived.

A/N: that's it for now. If you all want more, let me know. I might like to continue this. Please review! Thanks!


	2. Chapter Two

Feel

By Lady DeathAngel

Disclaimer: not mine, not profiting, 'nuff said.

Warnings: um, angsty Harry, and we all know how scary he can be.

A/N: so, this is the second chapter of Feel. These have to be the shortest chapters I have ever written in my life. Anyway, Harry's name is omitted on purpose, in case you notice that. I just felt that was how I wanted to write it, since that's what the first part was like. This hasn't been beta-read, but I'll eventually do a self beta job. Not sure how long this'll be, but probably only two chapters more at most. Also not sure if the Remus/Harry will be purely platonic or more. ::shrugs:: Let me know what you want. Which brings me to ::hem,hem:: Please read, enjoy and review! Thanks!

He shouldn't have been upset. He was being ridiculous. This was a good thing. God, his reasoning needed work. He stared at Ron and Hermione who were looking back at him curiously, and frowned.

"Dumbledore actually said it'd be okay for you to come with the Order?"

Ron smirked a bit.

"You could say that."

"Don't be stupid, Ron." Hermione snapped. "The truth is, this isn't exactly an authorized venture."

He lifted an eyebrow.

"Why, Hermione, how _reckless_ of you." he said. "Careful or you might be taking a fall through a veil in the near future."

She narrowed her eyes at him and Ron looked shocked.

"C'mon, mate, don't be like this."

"No, it's all right." she said loftily. "He's still busy playing his pity cards and feeling sorry for himself. It's natural that he'd be pissed we're not buying into it."

He glared at her, his look cold and she stared right back. Ron looked weary and confused but with a determined set to his mouth and brow steered them both toward the bedroom door.

"Look, let's just get out of here, yeah?"

Hermione responded with a petulant 'hmph' and trounced out, Ron following closely. He didn't, turning instead to Hedwig and letting her out of her cage.

"Go to Hogwarts." he said, petting her. "You can stay there for the rest of the summer and I'll see you in two weeks. Okay?"

She gave a complacent hoot, nipped his finger affectionately and flew out of his open window.

"I've come to give you a hand." Tonks said, walking into his room with a cheerful smile.

He didn't even try to smile back, and she coughed slightly.

"Right." she muttered.

It was silent for a bit, and he occupied himself with watching as she flew various items into his trunk.

"You know," she said after a while. "You could try and cheer up. It hasn't been a picnic for the rest of us either."

He bit back a scathing reply, sighing and looking away. She stared at him for a few minutes, her eyes a curious golden color for the time being, and then shrugged.

"Fine then. You really are just a child, I suppose, and we all forget that."

"I've seen more than almost any child you've ever met." he said angrily. "But it's all right for everyone to conveniently forget _that_, isn't it? Well let me tell you something, if you ignore it it's not going to go away! People will still be dead because of _me_ and _I_ will still know it's because of me and no one can coddle or will that away."

She knew it was true. Maybe no one felt it needed to be said, but he didn't have anything to lose by speaking his mind. She looked appropriately chagrined and then left the room without a word, levitating his things in front of her. He followed, his expression fading back into the blank one that took no energy and didn't seem to bother everyone as much. Halfway down the stairs, Tonks lurched forward with a curse and tumbled the rest of the way down. He frowned and rushed down after her.

"All right?" he asked, worried.

She nodded and stood up.

"I know I'm clumsy, but that wasn't my fault."

A soft mewl told him exactly whose fault it was, and he glanced up to see Nyx on the banister, glaring down at Tonks and hissing slightly. He sighed and held out his arms.

"Come on then, you." he said with a frown.

The cat leapt into his arms, climbing up his chest and draping herself across his shoulders. Tonks glowered at her.

"Its coming with us then?" she asked.

"Yeah. She is."

"Well, Crookshanks'll be happy at least." she said before turning around and continuing on, rubbing her back as they went.

"Sure you're okay?"

"Oh, and look who finally cares." she said, but her tone was playful as was the look she shot back at him.

He just shrugged, wondering why he bothered. They made their way out of the house and onto the front lawn where half of the Order seemed to have gathered.

"In a better mood?" Hermione asked huffily. "You're getting out of that house, you could at least _pretend_ to be happy."

"Oh I am. Don't I just look ecstatic?"

Ron snorted with laughter and sobered at the glare she turned on him.

"We pulled some strings at the Ministry to authorize a portkey." she said. "Dumbledore doesn't know about it, though. We did this for _you_."

"Thanks." he said, grudgingly but honestly.

"The portkeys activate in two minutes, so everyone be ready!" Moody said as loudly as he dared.

A few thoughts raced through his mind as he stood, huddled together with Ron and Hermione and Tonks, his trunk pressing uncomfortably into his knee and Nyx scrabbling into his arms with a questioning 'meow'. One was that he hoped no one on Privet Drive decided to look out their windows at that moment. It seemed that he thought that quite a bit, but then, they always did seem to be toeing the line when it came to doing magic around Muggles. His second thought was resentful.

He knew Moody was there. Tonks, Ron and Hermione obviously, but he'd noticed right off the bat that amidst all of the members of the Order, Lupin was missing. Hermione had said it was because he assumed he wouldn't want to see him. But of all the people here he'd replied to, Lupin, the one he hadn't, was the one he wanted to see. It was his own fault, though and he had no right to be upset or . . . anything at all.

But he was, and that was the last thought he had before he felt that all-too-familiar tug behind his bellybutton.


	3. Chapter Three

Feel

By: Lady DeathAngel

Disclaimer: not mine, not profiting, 'nuff said.

Warnings: angsty Harry

A/N: well, we'll just see where this leads. I'm thinking the next chapter will be the last and whether or not it wraps everything up will determine if there's sequel. In the meantime, thanks for the good feedback and here's another chapter for you.

Being back at Grimmauld Place was, quite possibly, the worst he had ever felt. Tiptoeing through the halls and into the room he shared with Ron was excruciatingly painful because, whereas last time he'd walked this hall Sirius had been somewhere in the building, living and breathing . . . now he was gone. He'd felt a fraction of it before. Sitting in the Great Hall after Cedric's death, looking over to the Hufflepuff's table and not seeing him and knowing that he would never see him again had been a bit like this. This sense of never-again.

Still, back with Cedric it had been different. He'd gone through those last few days in a fog. His mind worked a hundred miles an hour in a thousand different directions and he felt like he'd never felt before. Guilt waged with acceptance, fear with resignation. He would feel hollow one minute and the next he felt so much he wanted to just jump from the Astronomy tower and shut the voices up. He'd been too occupied with sorting things out and facing reality to really feel the impact of his death.

Now he knew exactly what death meant. And now it was more than just self-hate for being so damn noble and leading Cedric to his death. Then he'd been naive, young and blind-sided. But with Sirius . . . it was _his_ fault. If he'd used the mirror or if he hadn't trusted Kreacher or if he'd gone to any professor rather than straight to a fire or if he'd gone back and pleaded with Snape to teach him more or if he'd used what he'd learned more efficiently . . . the list was endless.

Anyone could say it was Sirius' fault but _he_ knew better. And being back in this house . . . the last place he'd ever seen his godfather alive . . . it was killing him inside.

It didn't help that people couldn't quite figure out what to do with him. Some, like Hermione, tried the 'non-coddle' approach. She was harsh and unrelenting and it really didn't help him any. Some, mostly Ron, tried the 'return to normal' approach. He would play games with him and talk about Quidditch and the new season and anything but death and darkness. Ron often wondered aloud why they'd wanted to rush so fast into it and he'd laugh in an un-happy way that just didn't fit him and say that it was funny because now they only wanted to return to days where they didn't _know_ all the things they knew now.

Mrs. Weasley was probably the worst of anyone he'd dealt with. She had, sometime between the previous summer and now, developed Ron's lack of tact. Well, Ron could be more tactful than she could as long as he wasn't nervous. She tried the approach that combined everything. She wanted to be his mum. She'd tell him not to worry over things so much and be happy. She'd tell him it wasn't his fault and Sirius had been determined to rush to a glorious hero's death. She would coddle him while telling him to relax and not to blame himself. It was hard to handle.

He remembered the last summer when she'd said he was as good as a son to her. He'd been happy to hear that and it iced over her words. The ones that had almost demanded that Sirius keep a distance. Now he wished she'd let Sirius be what he wanted to be with him. Brother, friend, father figure . . . _anything_. He wished she hadn't always looked at him like he didn't deserve to be his godfather. He wished that whenever they'd laughed and had a good time she hadn't ruined it by making some comment about parenting or his father and mother.

He tried not to be resentful. For Ron and Ginny's sake. But it was hard because he wondered what it might have been like if he'd been able to freely accept what Sirius had to give without Mrs. Weasley and Hermione always saying he was too reckless or unfit to be his guardian . . . if they hadn't always made those inconsiderate comments about Azkaban and their third year.

Sometimes, late at night with Ron's snores wrapped about his senses, he'd wish that it could have been just him and Sirius and Remus. He could still remember the conversation in the fire and how happy he'd been. Not just happy as in that shallow feeling of being happy that didn't extend past a bright smile and slight warmth in the pit of his stomach. Instead it was the kind of happy that filled him and made him content and would have lasted ages if circumstances had been different.

He would fall asleep with that thought and he'd dream. In the dreams it was just the three of them, laughing and sharing stories. There weren't any well-meaning people lurking in corners to destroy what happiness they all deserved. But he always woke up to a world where Sirius was dead and Lupin was avoiding him. And he would go through the day trying his hardest to reign in the anger and bitterness. He would play with Ron or talk with Ginny and stomach the daily comments from random people about his animagus running amok and knocking things over.

Nyx, at least, was enjoying herself. And getting into loads of trouble. It was, he decided, rather amusing to watch Mrs. Weasley's reaction to the kitten's mischief. She would want to yell at Harry for being irresponsible, and she would. But then she would catch herself and go back to coddling him. Tonks hated her, mostly because she always found a way to trip her. Hermione thought she was pretty, but Nyx wasn't too fond of Crookshanks and, therefore, didn't care for Hermione much either. She tolerated Ginny because she played with her and she adored Ron who emphatically declared he didn't like cats, but would be found with her in his lap during a chess game anyway.

Sometimes she would disappear for hours and reappear to jump onto his shoulder and curl around his neck. She always smelled familiar but he couldn't place the scent and she was content enough to purr into his ear and relax him better than anything anyone else tried. Those times were the only ones she spent out of his sight _not_ getting into sugar bowls and Ron's collection of Canons paraphernalia.

A week passed. A slow handing over of days that never got easier. He would round a corner and see something that looked like Sirius and turn with the biggest smile he'd ever had grace his features to find it was nothing. Some nights he just wanted to be alone and found himself in his room, sitting and staring at nothing. If he concentrated hard enough he could hear a barking laugh or a muffled curse and he could pretend that everything was as it had been.

It was unhealthy and stupid, but it was how he coped. A few times Ron suggested he talk to Lupin.

"I mean . . . he's the only who really knew Sirius so . . . maybe it would help." he'd said one afternoon.

"_I_ disagree." Hermione replied. "He mopes about as much as you do Harry and you don't need that. He won't make you feel any better."

"But Hermione, he understands better than we do . . ."

She shut Ron up with a look and he sighed.

"It doesn't matter. He's avoiding me anyway. I haven't seen him since I got here."

"Well, that's all well and good then."

For her, perhaps. But not for him. Ron was right, he knew it. He knew that it was getting harder and harder for him to hold everything in. He'd already spent eleven years doing much of the same, never sharing his pain at the hands of the Dursley's, eventually pretending it wasn't that big a deal. This was too big for him to handle alone though. And despite the fact that he didn't want to get attached to Lupin and lead him to a death that was all his fault, he needed him.

Needed the man who had taught him to fight his fear. Needed the man who had first told him about his parents. The man who always seemed to know what to do and what to say and who was almost too easy to talk to.


	4. Chapter Four

Feel

By: Lady DeathAngel

Disclaimer: not mine, not profiting, 'nuff said.

Warnings: more angst

A/N: Well . . . I actually cried writing this chapter. It's not even one my favorites but I had mascara in my tear-ducts when I was finished. This isn't the last chapter, in fact its more of an angsty interlude than anything. There is more yet to come, more angst, and some sort of closure (or we hope. .; ). Oh, and these haven't been beta read yet, but someone's on the job so never fear! Just, er, skip over mistakes. Anyway, as always, please read, enjoy and review.

Everyone wanted to be a hero. It was one of those so-called common childhood dreams. Girls wanted to be the princess, boys wanted to be the knight, and it seemed that some people never lost those dreams. He would always think of Ron and how he'd been so jealous of who he was and what he was. Ron didn't know, though, the reality of being 'the hero'. And it was better that way, in the end. He wouldn't wish what he was and who he was on anyone. Not even Malfoy. Because everyone was just better off in their idealistic worlds where facing Voldemort wasn't frightening enough to wake him in a cold sweat every year since he'd first run into him. Worlds where he was over-exaggerating or he was mad.

A part of him had resigned himself to this fate. Kill or be killed, as if that wasn't maudlin enough to make Shakespeare cringe (and wouldn't Hermione be proud that he knew a word like 'maudlin'?). It was almost hilarious, it was so simple. He could handle it, at least. The knowledge of the inevitable was a lead-weight in the pit of his stomach and it wasn't going to go away and he was used to it being there.

But there was still a part of him that wasn't all jaded naivete and resigned to fate. It was young and old, petulant and angry and wanted to be heard. It rebelled at having the weight of the Wizarding world on its shoulders. It demanded the childhood stolen, the happiness that wasn't allowed. It _knew_ more than the part of him that was submitted to what was expected. It knew that he was being used, it knew that he might never have a chance to love and be loved and die loved and being loved. It knew that he wasn't accepted for who he was, for the boy that excelled at Defense Against the Dark Arts and was mediocre at Potions and was absolutely horrid at Divinations.

It looked back on his fifth year and laughed! The nerve of it, it actually laughed. It told the truth that the other part of him simply thought inconsequential and irrelevant. It laughed at his failed relationship with Cho Chang and wondered aloud how he'd been so stupid.

_It's not as if you should have pursued it, really._ Or so it said. _Her boyfriend died next to you, she saw you clutching his body, bleeding and broken and half-mad. But you did it anyway. _Why?

He didn't have an answer to that question.

_Everyone was so accepting of it, though. Weren't they? Hermione pushed you onto her and her onto you. You were never good for each other and surely _she_ of all people should have realized it. But she didn't. _Why?

He didn't have an answer to that question.

_What about the affection you _really_ wanted? Sirius loved you more than any simple girl could have. But they weren't so accepting of _that_ were they? What did they see that you didn't? What did they think wrong that you thought wasn't? Why didn't they leave it be?_ Why?

He didn't have that answer either. He didn't have any answers. And that voice wouldn't stop talking. It would ask the questions that needed to be answered. Address issues that he'd tried to hard to sweep under the rug.

_You honestly think you aren't some kind of tool in this? Just _think_ for one goddamned second! Look back on what's happened to you. It's not _chance_. It's not an accident when Voldemort gets his hands on you. How can it be? Dear Dumbledore seems to know everything after the fact, during and before. How could he _not_ know what was going to happen? How could he _not_ know Quirrel was possessed? Or Mad Eye Moody wasn't the _real_ one? How could he assume Snape could get past his differences, and you as well, and be wrong about _that_ when he's been right about everything else?_

And he didn't know. He just didn't. And he didn't want to think about it, but it couldn't be helped.

_You want to know why, don't you?_

No.

_Don't kid yourself. You _think_ you don't want to know. But, remember how Dumbledore told you nothing and now you wish you'd known? In a year, will you wish you'd known?_

I . . . don't know.

_Yes you do. And you want to know why. Don't you?_

Yes.

_They want you to be what they think you should be._

So simple.

_You understand?_

Hardly.

_Let me help you understand. Think back . . . think about what Dumbledore said. He didn't tell you because he didn't think you were ready to know. He wanted you to be as normal and sheltered as possible until he saw it fit to tell you the truth._

That's . . . true enough.

_Heh. True enough? He didn't make you a Prefect because he thought you'd be too otherwise occupied. What does that tell you?_

That he tried to control me?

_Well . . . yes and no._

He tried to protect me.

_Yes . . . and no. _

He tried to make me something I'm not.

_Aha. Tried to make you innocent and sheltered and normal. Like Voldemort hasn't been after you since you were born. Like you could ignore the fact that you're the Boy-Who-Lived and pretend everything's all right. _

But he's always guarding me like I'm not normal. People watching my every move. Trying to keep me from doing too much because I can't strain myself. Protecting and controlling me.

_Well, you are the inevitable destruction of Voldemort. Can't have you being offed or doing anything wrong before you can save all their skins, right?_

Doesn't matter. Not now. I know now, so it's all in the past.

_But you can't let them keep you from being you. You can't let them pretend like they've always been here for you. Because where were they when you were a little boy locked in a closet with a deathly fear of the dark? Where were they when you were in that graveyard completely helpless? _

I was alone. I'm always alone. Even surrounded by people my destiny is to be alone. They'll never understand that. No one will.

_There are some who will._

None that I can talk to. Dumbledore . . . I can't trust him. Even before what happened he had distanced himself. And the only other is . . . was Sirius. I don't want to be alone anymore . . . but here I am. Alone again but with no hope this time. No plans for after his name is cleared. No plans for after Hogwarts.

_Just plans for after it's all over . . . our purpose fulfilled. _

_ I don't like being alone either._

And there was a pained whisper that cut the relative silence of the room.

"Fix it. Somebody please . . ."

And that summed it up, he realized, curled in on himself, head to his knees, arms around his shins. He just wanted someone to fix it all. He hated being alone.


	5. Chapter Five

Feel

By: Lady DeathAngel

Disclaimer: not mine, not profiting, 'nuff said.

Warnings: um, angsty sap.

A/N: Well, this has definitely surpassed what I expected it to do. Um, I don't know when this thing's going to end! Originally this chapter was never planned. In fact, chapter four was never planned either. Ah well, more for you. Next chapter Remus'll be along, and _that'll_ be along as soon as I can give it a look over. Just so you know, all of my work at this point will probably be self-beta, at least for a while. I know there are probably some mistakes but please forgive me. Anyway, as always, read, enjoy and review.

"Dumbledore came around today."

Hermione perched on the edge of the couch near his hips. The dip in the cushion made his body roll into hers.

"What did he say?" he asked without moving, his head resting on folded arms.

"He was furious with us for taking you from your aunt and uncle's."

He raised up a bit to glance over his shoulder at her.

"Did he say why?"

She nodded.

"Why didn't you ever tell us? I mean, about the reason you're always forced to go back there?"

"I don't even know the whole of it," he answered, resting his head on his arms again. "Just that it keeps the bond between me and my mum. Protects me."

She didn't say anything, but he felt her hand resting hesitantly on the small of his back.

"He said you could stay."

There was a long pause.

"He looks really old," she continued softly. "It's frightening."

He didn't have anything to say to that. He knew it. The last time he'd seen the man he'd looked downright haggard. He could understand why. Years of plans, of anticipating things turning out different, and it had blown up in his face. There was never going to be any right time to tell him that his parents and friends and schoolmates and complete strangers were dying for him and that only he could stop it. There was never going to be the slow submerging of everyone into the harsh reality that consisted of death and pain and a path he would be forced down alone. It was all gone for Dumbledore, all over. It made sense.

But Hermione didn't know, he reasoned. And even if she wasn't very empathetic, even if she didn't _know_, who was he to take away the one man that she could still trust in?

"It'll be fine, Hermione," he said, hoping he sounded like he meant it. "He'll be fine."

Her hand clenched on the fabric of his t-shirt, bunching it up until a sliver of skin was uncomfortably chilled. She didn't say anything, didn't move and after several minutes he could feel her knuckles pressing against his vertebrae. He looked back at her with a frown that softened when he saw her, hunched over and sobbing quietly.

"It w-won't be fine," she said, voice shaky. "Everything's all wrong. You and me and Ron and everyone . . ."

He sat up and the minute she let go of his shirt she launched herself across his lap, circling his waist with her arms and pressing her face to his chest.

"I'm s-s-so sorry," she wailed.

"Sorry?" he repeated, holding her in a way he wasn't entirely comfortable with, rubbing her back.

"Y-yes. I d-don't know what it's like . . . none," she hiccoughed. "None of us do. And I'm so s-sorry."

"Don't cry, Hermione," he said softly. "It's not your fault."

But she babbled about how it _was_. How he was one of her _best friends_. How she loved him and she should've known.

"Ron said we didn't get it," she said after she'd calmed a bit and was slightly more coherent. "He's always telling me that it isn't something either of us can understand."

"He's right."

"You've changed so much," she continued. "I wish . . . I wish you'd blow up at us like you used to. At least then we knew what was wrong."

He was saved from replying when Ron poked his head into the room.

"Oh," he said, looking at them and nodding. "I'll just let you two talk then."

"Stay," Harry said, inclining his head and beckoning him in.

Ron looked weary but closed the door and walked in, sitting on Harry's other side so that he was sandwiched quite snugly between his friends.

They didn't say anything. It was like they'd entered a world where they weren't so different from each other. Where they all understood each other on some level that they would never reach, not really. In the end, he mused, they were all just so _fundamentally_ different. They had different problems, different roads that they each had to walk. Hermione's path of the Muggle-born that wound right into the middle of a world where she was in danger of dying because she'd been born different but would always be guarded because, after all, they were fighting for people like her. Ron's path of being lost somewhere in the midst of everything that meandered and looked for a place to stop off but that wasn't lonely because he had his family and he had them. And his own path separate from their's, barely visible.

They had to go where they were supposed to go and it was that bittersweet discovery that had Hermione and Ron struggling. They weren't used to it, not like he was. But this moment, at least, they could ignore it. A rest-stop, perhaps, near the fork in the road that would send them all flying apart from each other. Or maybe a clearing half-way down those separate roads where they could see each other clearly and stop and talk and take a few deep breaths before continuing.

Either way, it felt good. It felt safe.

"Will you tell us, someday?" Hermione asked softly.

"About what?"

"What it's really like to be you?" she snuggled in closer, one arm thrown across Ron's lap now.

He blinked at her.

"Um . . ."

He looked down at her, saw that she was exhausted, probably from more than just that day, and nodded.

"Yeah." he said. "Yeah, someday."

She made a soft, happy sound and fell asleep. Ron, squeezed between the arm of the couch and his body slung his arm around Harry's shoulders to leave himself more room.

"D'you think we'll make it?" he asked quietly.

He looked over at him with a raised eyebrow.

"I dunno, mate," the red-head continued, answering his own question. "I'm scared."

Ron toyed fitfully with the fraying collar of his shirt and, every so often, his dark hair. He wondered if his often fidgety friend was even aware of what he was doing. But it felt nice. He liked being touched. He wasn't touched very often. Not like this.

"I don't know." he answered finally. "Maybe we'll make it. I hope you do, more than anything. I don't want you to die because of me."

The look on Ron's face was grave.

"People die for you, mate. Not because of you."

He just shrugged.

"You think you're going to die, don't you?"

"It's a possibility."

"Dumbledore told us about the prophesy today. About the whole 'kill or be killed' thing. He said that was why what we did was so reckless. Not because something might have happened to you because he was worried about you, but because something might have happened to you and that would have been the end of it." He shook his head. "I was . . . angry. You mean more to us than the future of our world, you know. At least, some of us. At least . . . me. And Hermione and my family and Lupin. So, if any of us die it's because we wanted to. For _you_. Not for ourselves or our future children or whoever else you're supposed to save someday."

He looked at him for a long moment and Ron looked back, completely serious.

"Don't plan on it." he said finally.

"Plan on what?"

"Dying for me." he smirked. "I rather like you alive, you know."


	6. Chapter Six

Feel

By: Lady DeathAngel

Disclaimer: not mine, not profiting, 'nuff said.

Warnings: same ol' angst.

A/N: Finally! Remus made an appearance! Woot. Anyway, here he is for everyone who's been waiting for him. Hope you like it. And don't worry, this isn't the end. As always, please read, enjoy and review.

He'd played the scenario over and over in his head. He couldn't remember all the ways he'd envisioned a conversation with his former professor going, but he didn't recall it involving Lupin coming to him. Not that he _went to him_ per se. But after so long not speaking to him, Lupin was the first to initiate contact. It was more or less out of necessity, though. Apparently he had his orders from Dumbledore or Mrs. Weasley or something.

He should have thought something was going on when Ron and Hermione cleared out of the room with nothing else to do, making excuses all the way over the threshold and halfway down the hall. But he didn't think anything of it really. Only when he heard a disembodied voice clearing itself did he realize it had been a ploy.

He sat up and whirled around, the book he'd been leafing through forgotten the minute he saw Remus Lupin standing just inside the room. He looked . . . well, he didn't look well. He looked thin and haggard and weary. He'd had a bit of a spark, at least, when Sirius was still around ranting at nothing out of the blue. He'd looked younger and more like the man he was sure his parents had loved. Now he looked worse than he had at the first meeting on the Hogwarts Express three years earlier.

But he didn't spare much thought for that. His thoughts were more frantic. He felt . . . wrong somehow. Like seeing Lupin, so much as being in the same room as him _alone_ was enough to seal his fate. He wanted to yell at him to get out but his throat had stopped working and somewhere, deep in the pit of his stomach, he was _glad_ to see him and he felt guilty and he felt good and it was just too much for him to be able to open his mouth and say much of anything.

"Hello, Harry." he said in that oh-so familiar hoarse voice.

It felt good to hear it. It felt normal. He could hear his parents in that voice. Hear Sirius in that voice. Hear what could have been for all of them and as bittersweet as it should have been it wasn't. It relieved a bit of the tension he'd felt for weeks.

"Er, hi, Professor."

That smile, small and not much but a slight up-turn of the lips, was so familiar.

"You can dispense with the formalities, you know. Just Remus is fine."

"Um, okay. Hi, Remus." He wrinkled his nose. "It feels . . . weird."

And that chuckle! He could still remember hearing it in response to the same things that had made Sirius smile roguishly.

"He said the same thing." Lupin . . . Remus, told him. "When he heard everyone calling me 'professor'. He wrinkled his nose, tried it out and said it felt weird. But right somehow."

Well, it did feel right somehow. And it was then he realized who he was talking about.

"You talk about Sirius." he said softly, a bit awestruck.

"Why wouldn't I?" he asked.

"Every time someone else mentions him they shut themselves up. Fred and George bring him up all the time but Mrs. Weasley just tells them to be quiet. They try to act like it never happened. Like he was never here."

He expected for him to say something in reply. Something wise and something that would make it okay. That would say, 'it's all right.' or 'they don't know better'. But he didn't, he just swallowed hard and went right to business.

"I'm supposed to talk to you." he said softly. "That's why I'm here. I know you probably don't want to see me, so I'll make it short."

And in that moment he wondered if _he_ didn't really want to see him either. Because he was pushing him away without a second thought.

"Okay."

"First, I'll pick up your school things if you want. I'll be visiting Diagon Alley this weekend. Molly wanted to do it, but if you want your things earlier or if you need anything, just let me know."

He didn't nod or shake his head. Just stared. Remus cleared his throat again.

"I don't . . . they wanted me to talk to you about this, Harry. Because of who I am to you I suppose, I don't know."

"What?"

"You're going to start your Occulmency lessons with Snape again, though you'll be visited by a few other experts in the field as well."

Harry didn't care. He might have. Months before, private lessons with Snape had been a nightmare and one he was all too willing to wake up from. But now he knew how important it was to guard himself, and despite the fact that he hated the greasy-haired man more than he'd hated almost anyone, save Bellatrix Lestrange and Voldemort himself, it had to be done. So he simply nodded. That wasn't it though, he could see it in Remus' posture.

"Harry, Dumbledore wanted me to inform you that while at Hogwarts your actions are going to be fairly restricted."

He frowned.

"Restricted?"

Remus nodded.

"Yes. For your safety and the safety of those around you. You aren't going to be allowed visits to Hogsmeade, you'll have a curfew that will be enforced and you'll have to leave your invisibility cloak with me. Quidditch is still in question."

He blinked. And again. It was only fair, he decided. But it hurt to know that now everyone was going to know what a danger he was to those he came into contact with. He was as good as a pariah or a recluse. It would keep everyone safe, namely him, but that didn't make it any easier to swallow. And it definitely didn't make him any less angry or resentful.

"So, I get to go to classes and that's it?" he said softly.

"It'll keep you safe and . . ." Remus trailed off.

"And keep me from killing any more of my friends?" he finished for him.

"That's not what I meant."

"But it's true, isn't it?"

There was a lengthy silence in which neither could look away from the other. There was so much to say and be said, but they didn't open their mouths. Eventually he got tired of the staring contest and looked away angrily.

"Why don't you just send Voldemort a letter? You could always owl him and let him know I'm coming and send me to kill him before I accidentally off myself. That's what this is all about."

"What are you talking about?" Remus asked, tone hard.

He snorted.

"Please, I'm not stupid. No one really cares about anyone else. If they die they can just be legends that died for my cause. This is all _really_ about keeping _me _safe so that I can eventually go out there like a good little hero, kill Voldemort and save the world. I bet Dumbledore's already got it all planned out, doesn't he?"

Remus didn't say anything and so he chanced a glance at him. He was looking at the wall, fingers tugging at the edge of his shoddy robes. There was a rigidity to his body that let him know he wasn't going to deny it.

"I was right in one, wasn't I?" he said finally. "But it's all pointless. I don't care about saving the rest of the world if I can't even save the people I love. Why doesn't anyone get that?"

"I don't know." was the soft reply.

"You don't know or you won't tell me?" he shot back. "Does he not want you to tell me? Has he always been the one dictating what you and Sirius could tell me? All those times I asked questions and you both avoided answering them, were you told not to talk to me about it?"

The older man drew in a sharp breath and when he turned to look at him, his hazel eyes were filled with an intangible pain. And it was true. Suddenly it made sense. And this was so much deeper than what he'd expected, what he'd ever expected.

"Maybe you'd better go." he told him, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Wouldn't want to risk you saying something you shouldn't, right? Besides, the longer you're around me the greater the chance I'll inadvertently kill you. So, yeah, you should go."

And he turned his back on his former mentor to look sightlessly at the book in front of him. He heard soft footsteps that hesitated at the threshold before leaving him alone. It was better this way for everyone, he convinced himself. He was going to have to get used to isolation, anyway. But it hurt and it felt wrong and he wasn't the only one being manipulated in all this. He just didn't know what more there was to say, so he let Remus walk away and pushed away all thought.

Thinking hurt too bloody much.


	7. Chapter Seven A

Feel

By: Lady DeathAngel

Disclaimer: not mine, not profiting, 'nuff said

Warnings: language, for once, and angst.

A/N: Woo-hoo, new chapter. Actually, two, technically. I split them up because 1) they're easier for me to beta when they're only a couple pages long and 2) I felt like it. So this part A of chapter seven and then you can go on to read part B. Um, damn, this thing has just grown beyond my control. But thanks to all your wonderful feedback I'm not at all bored and I've actually grown to love this story. Thanks so much for your great reviews. Let's see . . . no Remus for this chapter set, but an appearance by another familiar face. He'll be back, though. No worries, Remus fans! Anyway, please read, enjoy and review.

His reentrance onto front and center stage of the modern conflict (definitely the _Prophet's_ words, not his) was, as per usual, not gradual. One morning he was dragging his feet around, declining offers to play chess and exploding snap and all of a sudden Mrs. Weasley rushed into the drawing room with a large smile.

"You're back to school in a week," she said, stating the painfully obvious. "So I thought we could all head down to Diagon Alley to do your school shopping."

She was extremely excited about it, and that transferred over to Hermione and Ginny. The two girls took all of five minutes to get their things together, giggling over random items that they just _had_ to buy. He and Ron took a bit longer, Ron because he was opposed to shopping (something about his manly image. He was already enough of a ponce, being a prefect and all, or so he said. He didn't want to be a flaming poofter by default so he was _adamantly _opposed to shopping). He just didn't feel like shopping. There would be too many people, it would be too noisy . . . it wasn't his ideal way to spend the day.

"Not that you _have_an ideal way to spend a day," Ron pointed out helpfully when he complained. "All you do is mope around kicking inanimate objects."

"I do _not_," he retorted, knowing full well he did. His big toe throbbed enough from its last fated meeting with the solid corner of a grandfather clock to scream 'LIAR' the minute the words left his mouth.

"You _do_," Ron replied before shrugging. "I don't know what happened between you and Lupin, but maybe you should talk to him about it."

He pushed a hand through his hair, agitated.

"I don't need to talk to him about anything," he said angrily.

"He's the last living link to your parents and to Sirius. I mean . . . I dunno, that's got to mean something, hasn't it?"

He had a point, of course. Only, as close as he was to hitting the nail on the head, he was still off by a few inches. Yes it meant something. It meant a lot. Too much. That was part of the problem. Of course, it was a pretty pathetic excuse now. He wasn't as scared as he'd been, holed up in his room back on Privet Drive with Dudley and his uncle and his aunt convinced that he was, not only not normal because he was (perish the thought) a _wizard_, but now he was homosexual as well. Back with no friends but a playful kitten and nothing to distract him from thoughts of death and Sirius and Cedric and his parents and how it was _all his fault_. Back feeling like he was so alone and the one person who made him feel less alone was doomed if he got close. It was different now, actually being with his friends.

Maybe he needed to admit to himself that he didn't want to face Remus. He had no real reason. There were, however, several non-reasons. As they took a bit of floo powder each and made their way to Diagon Alley, he thought on them.

Non-reason number one: It was, essentially, _his_ fault that Sirius was dead. Remus had been his best friend and vice-versa in the last two years. Sirius had said as much late one night when they'd both woken from nightmares and found each other in the kitchen.

"James was my best mate, of course, before . . . well, back at Hogwarts," he'd said. "But Remus was a constant friend. You know, when I wasn't busy fucking things up."

He'd had no qualms about cursing in front of him and he'd found it refreshing. Better than the restricted speeches of everyone else in the dilapidated house.

"_He's_ my best mate now, Moony is. He's been great, you know, since I've been back," he'd smiled fondly.

He'd smiled back.

"Yeah?"

Sirius nodded.

"Yeah. I dunno, always thought he'd be a bit hostile. He was, for a while. But not because he hated me. He's always had his hang-ups, and I've always had mine and the whole situation kind of . . . compounded them."

He hadn't elaborated. He'd asked, of course, for details. Looking back, though, he thought that he understood it now. Sirius and Remus always got so _close_ to telling him what he desperately wanted to know, about his parents or the war or the Order. And then they'd get this look on their faces and stop and change subjects. Remus was better at it than Sirius; his godfather usually spent a few minutes in moody silence with a frown whereas Remus would discreetly ask about his family or something before rushing off to help Mrs. Weasley or Mr. Weasley or, if they weren't together already, Sirius.

Somewhere they were told not to share. And it made so much _sense_ now, that.

Anyway, non-reason number one translated roughly into: Remus should hate him. Remus should be angry and bitter at the very least. His last friend was dead because of one slip of a boy who just couldn't die.

Which tied into non-reason number two: he was guilty as sin. That was a phrase his Aunt Petunia had used when he was younger.

"What've you done boy? You look guilty as sin itself!"

He'd never known what it looked like to be guilty as sin, but he knew what it felt like. It fluctuated between a gnawing pain somewhere below his stomach, fluttering beneath his sternum and sometimes spreading through his legs and knees and toes and making him shake until he could barely breathe and a small twinge that pulsed beneath his skin and made him flinch so often he looked like he had permanent body spasms. He wasn't just guilty about Sirius, though.

God knew he'd been guilty enough about that over the past two months.

He was also guilty about he he'd acted with Remus. He knew it hadn't been his former professor's fault, but he'd taken out all his anger on him when he should have breathed and acted civil and more like an adult. Maybe Tonks was right . . . he was just a kid. A kid who would, by the time he could be classified as an adult, have killed or been killed by Voldemort. At least, if things went according the plan. And he knew they would. Dumbledore would make sure they would.

Non-reason number three didn't really exist. It was one of those things that he preferred not to think about. He felt . . . uncomfortable about thinking about it and, really, he'd decided that there was no non-reason number three. He steadfastly told himself to 'fucking stop it' because his mind would wander and there were several roads it liked to take when his conscious self wasn't around to stop it.

Hermione had looked at him a few times like she knew. Ron had as well, though he wanted his best friend back more than he wanted the right thing. He ignored it, but Hermione seemed determined not to let his mind wander that particular path either. In fact, his own voice of 'fucking stop it' was often joined by Hermione's own harried 'don't you dare, _Harry_, don't you dare'. So he didn't. He took deep breaths and he told himself that Remus was his father figure now, even if he wasn't. Even if he wasn't allowed, would never be allowed, and he didn't want that anyway.

It was safe. A safe road.


	8. Chapter Seven B

Feel

By: Lady DeathAngel

Disclaimer: not mine, not profiting, 'nuff said.

Warnings: meh, hints at an actual plot instead of meandering angst? Does that count?

A/N: um, onto part B!

He managed to ignore the stares for the most part. It was mostly because he was so busy thinking about not thinking about Remus as anything but a father figure. Hermione's voice in his head could be _very_ distracting as well, so he hardly noticed until Ron shuddered on his left.

"This is getting bloody creepy," he muttered.

Hermione tossed her hair as elegantly as she could when it was so tightly curled as to be bushy.

"They're just being rude and _we_ should do our best to ignore them."

He almost snorted because he half expected her to say, 'Peasants', in a delicate sniff. Ron shrugged, but his eyes kept darting back and forth and finally, _finally_, he noticed that they were all staring at him. He sighed and shook his head, running a hand through his hair and pulling his thoughts away from the non-reasons to avoid Remus Lupin.

"You would think," he said with a shake of his head. "They'd never seen the future of the Wizarding world shopping for school things before."

Ron laughed but Hermione tutted.

"Not to be taken lightly," she muttered.

He and Ron shared a look and shrugged. She was like his publicist, or, he thought that was what it was called. It was her job to assume the proper attitude of disdain without being calloused. She was very good at it. He and Ron were not.

Mrs. Weasley tutted as well from somewhere behind them, but Ginny, on his right, simply batted her eyelashes at the cuter blokes and ignored the nasty looks _she_ was gaining from the prettier girls.

"Is being famous always this much of a pain in the arse?" Ron asked softly as they continued on amidst enraptured gazes and small whispers.

He shrugged.

"Yeah."

He didn't add that this wasn't the worst of it. He didn't need to. The worst of it was heading toward them.

Draco Malfoy looked much the same as ever. At least, he was recognizable as the blonde-haired, pointy-chinned, pasty-faced idiot they'd hexed into a blob earlier that summer. He was frowning. That in and of itself was nothing different. However, there was no sneer in the expression. He was missing that look that had always been present and said, '_I_ am better than you. _I_ am always going to be better than you.'. That look that had always been all talk and no action.

He looked older with the frown. More menacing. It was almost attractive. Leastways, moreso than his usual baby-faced 'I am a pearl, the world is my oyster' attitude and look.

"Hello Malfoy," Ron said pleasantly, obviously pleased to be confronted. "How's your dad?"

Sadistic little bugger.

"If you think you're the first to use that particular line on me, Weasley, you're wrong. And I'm not here to talk to you, I'm here to talk to Potter."

Mrs. Weasley looked at them curiously but Ron nodded at her.

"We'll meet you at Flourish and Blotts later," he said. "We'll look after him."

She didn't want to leave them and would have argued but at that moment a woman Harry had never seen swooped down on her. She simpered about how long it had been since they'd spoken, took Mrs. Weasley by the arm and ushered her away.

"Let's talk in the Leaky Cauldron," Malfoy said. "Your entourage can follow, I suppose. Keep a bit of a distance though, if you don't mind? These streets are dusty enough . . ." he trailed off, the rest of his insult not hard to imagine.

He frowned but walked side-by-side with Malfoy as Ginny, Ron and Hermione fell back.

"Enjoying your summer?" the blonde asked in a neutral tone.

"Not particularly," he answered tonelessly.

"Neither have I."

He didn't know what he expected. Well, no, he knew exactly what he expected. He expected for Malfoy to say it was all his fault and curse him like usual. Instead he kept walking, eyes straight ahead. When they finally reached the Leaky Cauldron Malfoy practically ordered Ron, Hermione and Ginny to stand near the exit.

"I won't hex your boy-wonder," he drawled with an eyeroll.

They sat down at a long wooden table across from each other.

"I want to call a truce," he said.

"What?"

"A truce? You do know what that is, don't you Potter?"

"Of course I do Malfoy I just . . ."

"Didn't expect it?"

"Yeah."

He frowned and tugged on his earlobe.

"I'm dead tired of being embarrassed by you, Potter," he said finally. "There's no pride in it, no reward, nothing. I hate you, probably always will, but don't you think its time we grew up?"

He shrugged.

"Please don't start with your 'martyr of the Wizarding world' bit, Potter. Yes I know you've been forced to grow up at a heinously accelerated pace, but that doesn't hold water. Not with me."

He didn't say anything and Malfoy cleared his throat slightly.

"Anyway, with my dad in Azkaban for the time being and my mum . . . not handling it so well, not to mention the way the Ministry's been watching us and seizing property left and right . . . I don't have time for you. Not now."

"But you will later?"

His smile was cold.

"Of course. One day I'll pay you back for all you've done to my family and to me and I look forward to it. Until then . . ." He held out his hand.

It was a nice hand, slim and pale and his palm was cool against his own, which felt overly heated. They shook once and then Malfoy was up and walking away, not even sparing a glance at the three awestruck individuals staring after him.

"The _Prophet_ is going to have a bloody _field-day_ with this, Harry," Hermione said when he drew up to them.

He shrugged and sighed.

"Tell me something new," he said.


	9. Chapter Eight

Feel

By: Lady DeathAngel

Disclaimer: not mine, not profiting, 'nuff said.

Warnings: more angst, no language really.

A/N: well, this is a different chapter. It's not in Harry's POV for one thing, but in Snape's. Strange, but it wrote itself out that way. Hope you like it, and expect more Remus soon. He's lurking in the corner right now, but I think he'll be written in within the next two chapters. Thanks for all the great feedback on the last few chapters. Oh, and because school resumes itself in two days, I may be slower with updates. Check out my livejournal for updates. Hee-hee, it's so cool that I can actually say that now. Woot! Oh, and this one will have been a quick self-beta job since I wanted to load the chapter A.S.A.P., especially in light of FFN's maintenance work. But I've got a few people willing to beta so that makes me happy! Anyway, please read, enjoy and review.

The small room was empty and quiet. Soft lamplight illuminated the yet-to-be-restored carpets and upholstery, all of it faded and tattered and yearning for better days. The small sofa that was usually the teenagers' social hub at 12 Grimmauld Place was, at the moment, occupied only by a sleeping boy. He didn't look quite as scrawny with his legs folded into a body bent at the waist to squeeze him onto the small piece of furniture. He looked almost normal when he was asymmetrical like that. Like a normal teenage boy.

Which was, of course, far from the truth. Severus Snape had known many young men and women far from normal by _any_ standards. Werewolves and pure-bloods and all manner of Witches and Wizards with some sort of psychological mess that made them think they were above or below whatever they thought the level of normal to be. Still, it was strange to see someone growing up so far from normal. He'd grown up with plenty of people like that, but he'd never stood back and watched.

Now he was.

It seemed like it had been longer than five years since he'd known Harry Potter and watched him face evil after evil and come out relatively unscathed. It seemed like he'd been the boy's unwitting guardian for most of his life, rather than just the latter portion of it. But the fact was that he'd only known him for a short amount of time, and even then he didn't _really_ know him.

He'd had many arguments with Black about it. The last one being just before he'd started tutoring the boy in Occulmency when the headstrong idiot had cornered him just after a meeting with the Order.

"I had so been hoping to avoid this discussion," he'd muttered under his breath.

Black had simply rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, well, you didn't honestly think I'd let you get _away _with avoiding it, did you?"

He conceded that he had not and made some snide comment that he barely paid any attention to. His insults just slid off the tongue like that. Black took a deep breath, not taking the bait.

"I don't feel like arguing with you," he said. "It's been a long few days and I'm not in the mood. I just wanted to tell you that you'd better treat Harry with some amount of respect when you get back to school."

"Don't tell _me_ how to deal with _my_ students, Black," he shot back. "I see to them how I deem fit and that includes handling our little boy-hero without kid gloves."

"From what I hear, you _handle_ him with your standard attitude toward anyone who isn't in your House. And I'm telling you right now, if you treat him like anything less than human and I hear about it . . ."

"You'll what? Suffice it to say that your usual tactics of degradation and intimidation don't work quite like they did when we were children."

Black had sighed and raked a hand through his hair.

"Stop living in the past," he nearly pleaded. "It's not good for any of us at this point. Granted, I'll always hate you and you'll always hate me and you'll always hate James but . . . Harry isn't James. It isn't fair to him."

He'd been affronted.

"I'm quite well aware of the fact, Black. From what I hear you're the one who needs to remind himself exactly which Potter is living under this roof, not me."

He'd had no answer to that, instead growling deep in his throat before shaking his head.

"Just don't treat him like shit, Severus. You can manage that much?"

And before the potions master had a chance to reply he was gone. He hadn't thought much about that particular conversation until Potter and his friends had gallivanted off like the stupid little Gryffindors they were, dragging one of the strangest Ravenclaws he'd ever known with them. When the boy had come back and an emergency meeting of the Order had been called he'd wondered just what Lily and James' spawn had managed to muck up this time.

Seeing Lupin looking for all the world as if the universe had ceased to exist and noting the hard edge to Molly Weasley's face, he'd guessed accurately that one of their own was lost. Again. He'd immediately looked around for missing persons and for some reason he just didn't piece it all together. A part of him knew that Black was gone but he'd assumed that he was all right, possibly off with Harry consoling the idiot of a boy.

Then Dumbledore had spoken and informed anyone who hadn't been there that Sirius Black had fallen through the veil. He'd been, what was the pretty word for it? Oh, Displaced. The prophesy that Voldemort had been after was gone forever now, remnants of course remaining wherever the headmaster kept them, be it Pensieve or somewhere else. He'd been foiled and he didn't want Harry alive anymore. He'd been ready to kill him back at the Department of Mysteries. He'd told them that meant heightened security around the boy and those who surrounded him: friends and the like.

A few weeks later he informed Severus personally that he'd like for them to resume Occulmency lessons.

"I'll see about bringing in a few other specialists if it means you'll both cooperate better."

It didn't take a genius to figure out that he was still disappointed in him.

Of course, Severus had very little sympathy for the man. As much as he respected him he had agreed to few of his decisions, chief of them being to keep Potter in the dark about his true purpose. For all that he hated him by proxy, he'd felt originally that they were using him. Dumbledore was cultivating the savior of the Wizarding world with little to no real concern for his feelings. He was being to weak-handed. He was molly-coddling him and lying not just to the boy but to himself if he thought he was being benevolent and making the right decisions.

Eventually he got over it. Until he saw the boy for the first time since he'd chanced across James and his happy little family on a rare excursion to Hogsmeade. He'd looked scared, small and pale and too skinny for his age. James had never been that skinny and neither had Lily. Of course, he learned later about his being stuffed in his cupboard for most of his life and it made sense. He tried not to hate him. He honored his life-debt to James by looking after his headstrong, naive son and he thought it'd be much easier if he liked him. But he didn't.

And, of course, look what that got everyone. Black was dead and the boy and Lupin were miserable which made working with either of them nigh on impossible. He'd told himself to grow up so many times in the past, to get over it, to be the bigger man and he'd failed. Now he had no choice but it was too late and contrary to popular belief, he felt the gnawing guilt of it. It was mild and, as far guilt went, he'd felt worse. But it was there, the knowledge that the one person he'd ever seen love that scrawny, pale boy irrevocably was dead and gone and he wasn't really that sorry.

On the couch, Harry stirred. From where he stood Severus could see his brow tighten, his eyebrows meeting above his nose in an agitated 'v'. He frowned and squirmed and moaned a name. Cedric. He moved onto his back, flailing an arm, and moaned another. Sirius. Cedric, Cedric, Sirius, mum, dad, Sirius. All of them, over and over.

It felt wrong to be standing there and watching tears streak down his face and he wondered why no one had come running to their little hero's side. And then he realized he had to strain to hear the agonized groans and hissed names. Still, weren't there people that ought to be here for him? Some red-headed twit to wake him up and tell him to calm down? Some overbearing female to hold him and do what he thought overbearing females were supposed to? But there was no one.

He felt something streak past his ankles and saw Potter's cat sprinting across the floor. She leapt onto his chest and pawed gently at his cheek, mewling softly. He quieted very slightly and she licked the tracks of his tears and in a flurry of robes, Severus left the room.

He felt strangely disgusted, with himself or the others who were supposed to be there for that stupid slip of a boy he didn't know. But it wasn't his place and he wished, not for the first time, that he didn't hate Harry Potter.


	10. Chapter Nine

Feel

By: Lady DeathAngel

Disclaimer: not mine, not profiting, 'nuff said.

Warnings: none! Shock.

A/N: finally, after much time spent angsting over what the next chapter would be, I present to you the newest addition of the Feel 'arc' (don't think its quite long enough to qualify, but the way its growing it will be soon enough). Compared to the previous chapter, it's a rather lighthearted fare, but it'll pick up where the angst left off next chapter. And just for time-line references, this chapter takes place the weekend after their visit to Diagon Alley (which was on a Wednesday, this chapter taking place on a Saturday). Snape's internal musings took place some time between Wednesday and Saturday. Just in case that helps. I'd like to apologize for the waits between chapters. School is time consuming as is the fact that my computer had a bit of an episode recently and I've been offline for over a week. Thanks, though, for your patience and continued love of my fic. I appreciate it more than you'll ever know! Love you all, and as always, please read, enjoy and review!

The twins thought it was hilarious. He'd been able to hear their laughter the minute they'd walked into the kitchen and gave up trying to relax, stepping over a napping Nyx and going to see what was so funny.

"It's not at _all_ funny," Hermione was saying.

"Yeah it is," said one of the twins, possibly George given the slightly milder tone of voice.

"The little bugger's finally getting what he deserves, isn't he?" the other answered.

"Mum! Tell them to stop laughing," he heard Ron say.

"Now, now," she answered. "What's all this? He's made your life miserable for years, Ron. And while I don't condone making light of the situation," She paused and he could just imagine the look she shot at the twins who were still chuckling. "I don't see why you're so offended over this."

"What's going on?" he asked, stepping into the kitchen and running a hand through his hair.

"Welcome back. Your," George consulted the paper before him. "'Reentrance onto front and center stage of the modern conflict' took a while didn't it?"

"Had us all waiting with bated breath, you did," Fred added with a smirk.

"What are they on about?"

Ron shook his head.

"It's nothing," he answered just as Hermione yanked the paper from George and thrust it into his hands with a loud, "I _told_ you so!"

He looked down and saw a picture of Draco Malfoy blinking up at him. It was recent, the look too much like that of the Malfoy he'd run into on Wednesday and not enough like that of the Malfoy he'd grown up with. The caption read in large letters, 'Son of High Ranking Death Eater Makes Dirty Deal with Boy who Lived'.

"_What_?!"

"Keep reading," Fred said. "It gets loads better."

He sighed but continued on.

_After spending the beginning of the summer sequestered away from the Wizarding World, Harry Potter, age 16, finds himself thrust back into the limelight and the rapidly brewing war._

_This past Wednesday found Potter, with friends Hermione Granger and the Weasley family, shopping for supplies for their upcoming school year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Harry will be entering his Sixth year)._

"_They didn't look like they was expectin' trouble," said Mary Day who was shopping nearby. "Of course," she continued. "Everyone were staring at him somethin' awful and mutterin' things. Me own best friend kept lookin' over her shoulder like You-Know-Who 'imself were waitin' around the corner to kill us all."_

_But it wasn't You-Know-Who that young Potter found himself face-to-face with on that crowded street. Instead he was confronted by Draco Malfoy._

"_We'll, they've never gotten along," said Justin Finch-Fletchley, a year-mate of Potter and Malfoy's._

_According to Justin they've gotten into countless fist-fights and verbal battles, but it's been harmless. Until now._

_As the son of a Death Eater who is currently serving a life-sentence in Azkaban, there is reason to believe he was acting on higher orders than his own. Though no one has been able to say exactly what transpired between the two boys in the Leaky Cauldron, speculation as well as the past actions of Malfoy lead us to believe he was attempting to strike some kind of deal or even lure Potter to the Dark Lord's side. _

_Whether or not he succeeded has yet to be seen, but Tim Fellows, who was having a cup of tea with his fiancee the day of the incident, says they shook hands, "Like old friends."_

"_It was a bit unnerving to see a Malfoy and a Potter shaking hands like that," he said. "Never woulda caught James and Lucius doing it, that's for sure!"_

_So, what really happened between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy? We've yet to see the results of that fateful meeting, but one thing is for certain: Potter's_ _Reentrance onto front and center stage of the modern conflict will leave us all with questions about his safety and his loyalty._

"Are they serious?" he asked once he finished reading the article.

"As an Unforgivable," Ron assured him.

"Now, we aren't making light of the fact that, once again, you might possibly be meeting in secret with You-Know-Who," George hastened to assure him.

"But," Fred said. "Malfoy's been getting it from all sides for daring to lay a finger on our savior."

"What are you talking about?"

Hermione sighed.

"There's a bit in there about it," she told him. "He's being questioned by all sorts of authorities who think he was trying to bring you over to Voldemort's side or kill you or something awful like that."

"Which," Ron added. "I'd have believed in a heartbeat a few weeks ago."

"I don't know what's changed," Mrs. Weasley said.

He thought back to the look on Malfoy's face when he'd called the truce, remembered what he'd said about his mum. It was hard to keep on hating someone after seeing them so vulnerable and honest. It made him wonder why he'd never seen that Malfoy before. It made him wonder why he'd been so quick to judge. He didn't know how many times he, Ron and Hermione had talked about it, how many times they had to grudgingly admit they'd done their fair share of not helping the situation. They'd talked about this new Malfoy and wondered if he was really so new at all. Maybe they were just growing up. Maybe it was about damn time that they did grow up.

"A lot," he said softly. "A lot has changed."


	11. Chapter Ten A

Feel

By: Lady DeathAngel

Disclaimer: Not mine, not profiting, 'nuff said.

Warnings: language, standard angst.

A/N: This is really short, self beta-read and the first part of two, the second of which will hopefully be up soon. School's occupying a lot of time so I'm just not sure how long it'll take me to get chapters out. Whenever they write themselves they'll turn up, I suppose. Anyway, please read, enjoy and review! Thanks!

He was lounging in the drawing room as usual. Hermione and Ron were off doing whatever Hermione and Ron did when they weren't trying to cheer him up. He hadn't seen Tonks in days and the twins wouldn't be around until dinner time. Members of the Order flitted in and out of the house, a few taking the time to stop in and check on him conspicuously, some with hearty hellos and others, or Moody in any case, with sidelong glances and furrowed brows. Crookshanks was napping in a corner and Nyx had, as was her strange custom, disappeared.

It was quiet at least, other than that. Little noise permeated the air of the room and he might have fallen asleep if it hadn't been for the inability of his mind to shut down.

It had been a few hours since the Daily Prophet had unveiled its speculations and conspiracy theories and since then he hadn't been able to stop thinking about it. It wasn't that he was worried about his reputation. It had been ruined over and over for the past five years and he was past caring. Instead he was thinking about Malfoy. Not feeling sorry for him, exactly, but still a bit . . . off about the whole thing.

From what Fred and George had said, his schoolmate was getting it from all sides. He didn't know the details but he was being questioned and the threat of an arrest hung over his head. Most everyone in the house was giddy about it. Ron and Hermione were torn between pity and a sense of 'he's earned it, hasn't he?'. Snape, who had swept through the hall way minutes ago yelling at the top of his lungs for Remus was notably on the opposite end of the spectrum.

He didn't know what he felt.

Responsible, perhaps. That little voice in his head was happy about it.

_He _does_ deserve it, you know? After all he's done to you, the lies he's spread and the tricks and the threats . . . it was bound to catch up to him._

Yeah, but I wasn't exactly passive in it, was I? I gave as good as I got. Better, even. At least he's always been harmless. I've always caused more damage.

_Something to be proud of, getting him before he can get you. It's a key to survival. It works._

He still felt rotten about it, even though it was true that Malfoy wasn't exactly an innocent bystander. He went the rounds with his subconscious, never gaining any ground because, honestly, what had he done to Malfoy? He was selfish, conceited and horrible and he did deserve it. But he'd end up back at square one. Feeling sorry and wondering why.

An hour later he wasn't exactly shocked when Snape burst into the room and interrupted his internal debate.

"Come with me, Potter. Now!"

He blinked from his prone position on the sofa and then sat up.

"Is this about Malfoy?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

Snape nodded jerkily.

"We have to discuss this so get up."

He stood and looked at his professor curiously.

"Who's 'we'?"

"Does it matter? Follow me."

He knew he wasn't going to get anymore information, so he did. Snape was moving at a fairly quick pace and he had to jog slightly to keep up as they made their way down the hall and halted at the very end in front of a study that he vaguely remembered cleaning out the previous summer. Snape didn't bother knocking. Instead he pushed the door open and motioned for him to enter with a jerk of his head.

He stepped over the threshold and took two tentative steps into the room with a slack-jawed look at the man in front of him.

"Hello, Harry," Remus said in a soft voice.

_Oh shit_, his internal voice said, a sense of 'I should have seen this coming' twisting his stomach.


	12. Chapter Ten B

Feel

By: Lady DeathAngel

Disclaimer: not mine, not profiting, 'nuff said.

Warnings: angst

A/N: Okay, so here's part 2. It's unedited but I figured I'd put it up ASAP because I didn't want to leave the last part hanging. I'll beta-read it and probably resubmit later this week. In the meantime, please read, enjoy and review.

Snape didn't give Harry any time to get used to the idea of seeing Remus, which, when the werewolf thought about it, wasn't fair. The other man _knew_ what had happened between the two of them and he'd listened grudgingly to Remus' theories on what was going on with the boy. In fact, he was the only one who did know. Everyone else didn't really _care_ why Remus holed himself away in this study with naught but a green-eyed cat for company. And they didn't care why Harry was so subdued. They blamed it on grief and that was a part of it certainly, but it went deeper.

Remus could see it, looking at the young man in that moment, eyes flickering with emotions that couldn't seem to settle.

"Sit down," Snape said, indicating the chair in front of his desk.

Harry's gaze shifted to the potions professor and then back to Remus as he complied.

"What do you need me for?"

"Draco's been kept in a holding cell in Azkaban for the past two days," Snape told him without preamble.

Remus shot him a severe look but the other man ignored it and was more keen on Harry's reaction.

"What?"

"Fudge issued an order to have him taken into the Ministry's custody for questioning," Snape said, seemingly satisfied with the appalled look on the teen's face.

Harry frowned and looked at the two of them.

"What the bloody hell for? He didn't do anything wrong. We were only talking."

Remus sighed.

"Well, _you_ know that and _Draco_ knows that but the rest of us have to take your word for it."

"And," Snape continued. "At this point a Malfoy's word is as good as mud and worth about as much to Fudge."

Harry was a lot of things but stupid wasn't one of them. So the question he asked was more for verification than anything else.

"You want me to explain it all to Fudge?"

Snape nodded.

"Yes. We've arranged a meeting with him later this evening."

The boy looked away from his professor and toward Remus and then down at his hands. He gave a slight nod and Remus didn't miss the look of relief that relaxed Snape's features.

"I've got some things to see to," he told them both. "But Remus and I will be escorting you to the Ministry so I'll be back."

And then he was gone. Remus wasn't sure if he'd planned to leave them alone or not. It seemed the kind of sadistic thing he'd do. He sighed silently and stared at Harry for a moment before asking him a question he doubted the boy got very often.

"You're all right with this?"

He looked up at him and shrugged.

"I'm the only who can free him, right? Besides he's . . . different. He wanted to call a truce. That's what we were talking about. This thing's gotten too big for us to act like stupid little kids around each other."

Remus simply nodded and Harry looked away again. Nyx, who had been napping under one of the old armchairs in a corner took that moment to make an appearance. She sprinted toward Remus, circled his legs playfully and then leapt onto Harry's lap with a happy mewl.

"I'd wondered where she was always disappearing to," he said softly, scratching her ears. "Um . . . does she keep you company?"

"She's one of the few who does, actually," Remus said with a wry grin.

"Yeah, she did the same for me before I got here."

He trailed off and for a moment Remus imagined a conversation in which Harry told him how horrible it was in that house with those Muggles and they commiserated. He thought that might have been what Sirius would do for him, offer a listening ear and curse loudly and wrap him in a one-armed hug with a promise to always be there for him whenever he needed, wherever he needed.

But he wasn't Sirius and Harry wasn't looking for anyone to take that role. He seemed determined to isolate himself and Remus couldn't blame him. He'd tried it years ago, thinking it was for the best, that he'd only kill whoever got too close because of what a monster he was.

"Um . . ."

Remus looked up to see Harry looking away, still absently scratching Nyx's ears.

"I'm sorry," he said. "For when you talked to me before . . . you know, when I sort of went spare on you. It wasn't right. I'm sorry."

He blinked and then shrugged.

"It's all right, really."

"No it's not," Harry told him, finally lifting his eyes. "It's not all right. You should . . . you should be angry and tell me how rude I was and that you think I deserve whatever I get because of what a horrible person I am."

Remus frowned.

"You're serious," he stated.

Harry didn't say anything just looked away again.

"Where the bloody hell would you get an idea like that?" he demanded.

"I . . . it . . . That's what I am. I do deserve it. I do," he whispered, voice choked.

"No you don't. It's not your fault."

Harry swallowed and then nodded.

"But it is. I could've done differently. I could've stopped myself from looking into Snape's pensieve and kept on with Occulmency lessons and I never would have had that stupid dream. Or, I could've opened Sirius' gift to me and I'd have known he was safe instead of running straight to the Department of Mysteries . . . I could've done differently. I should have."

It all spilled out of him faster than Remus should have logically been able to follow. But the words held him and his attention and he didn't miss a single one. There was a sharply silent moment in which he knew Harry expected him to yell and blame him and tell him that he deserved every bad thing that happened to him. When he hadn't several seconds later, Harry looked up at him. His green eyes, Lily's eyes, were weary and hopeful and Remus wanted so badly to comfort him that he forced himself to turn his head to the side.

There was a sharp intake of breath that was released on a hiss and he thought he heard a muttered, 'I knew it'. But he didn't know for sure.

He didn't watch as Harry left, Nyx at his heels. He didn't look up when the door reopened a few minutes later and Snape entered with a deep frown.

"What happened?" he asked.

Remus just shook his head and dropped it into his hands.


	13. Chapter Eleven

Feel

By: Lady DeathAngel

Disclaimer: not mine, not profiting, 'nuff said.

Warnings: a bit o' language

A/N: sorry this has taken so long. I've had some internet troubles and so it's been done for a while but I've been unable to post. Trust me, I doubt it sucks as much for you as it does for me. Do you know what it's like to have a four day weekend and no internet access? ::sigh:: Also, I've decided that not using Harry's name is a pain in the ass. It wasn't so bad when I thought this fic was only going to be four chapters long, but with it pushing past double digits and quickly becoming the longest fic I've ever written, I'm done with that. So after this chapter it'll be easier to write and easier to read and I'll probably go back to beta through the rest of the fic and change that. Anyway, please read, enjoy, and review! Oh, and to answer a question previously posed, this fic will indeed carry on into Harry's Sixth Year which will be starting within the next two chapters. Not sure how long after that it'll go . . . omfg! I just had inspiration hit like a pillowcase of bricks . . . hmmmm . . . hehehehehe . . . muahahahahahahah!

The Ministry of Magic hadn't changed much since the last time he'd seen it. Other than the piles of rubble in the center, roped off and adorned with blinking signs that said, 'Under Construction', nothing had changed. He wished it had because now he found himself staring at the walls and the fountain that was being rebuilt, thrust back to that night in June. He could see it clearly . . . Sirius going through the veil and the burning hate that made him follow Bellatrix . . . performing Cruciatus and being unable to cause pain and wanting so desperately to do so . . . Voldemort and his scar burning and he was going to die and the only reason he cared was because he needed, needed, _needed_ to kill Bellatrix first.

He didn't realize how far gone he was until a shrill, feminine squeal jerked him out of his memories and made him jump nearly a foot in the air.

"Mr. Potter! What a pleasant surprise!"

He found himself face to face . . . well, chest more like, with a woman he'd never seen before. She had short brown hair, mud-brown eyes and lips that were so glossed he was sure he could see his reflection in them if he squinted. She wasn't un-attractive exactly, but she was quite ridiculous looking, towering over him and making high-pitched noises of excitement.

"I'm Elaine Crass!" she exclaimed, grasping his hand and shaking it firmly. "I'm Junior Overseer of this little project." She indicated the fountain in progress. "Fudge, er, the Minister said that we'd build it with minimum use of magic to get the best detail possible. That's why it's taking so long and that's why I'm in charge."

"That's . . . um . . . that's nice," he stuttered, trying to get around her.

She wouldn't let him go though, instead seizing his arm with both her hands.

"Oh no, you must see how it's going!"

"We are in a bit of a . . ." Remus started but she talked over him and continued walking.

"We're quite pleased with how it's turning out," she said. "In fact, it's a dead-on likeness. Not as handsome as the original of course but . . ."

She winked at him. Or he thought she did. She may just have had something in her eye.

"Tada!" she said with a flamboyant wave of her hands, indicating a small sign and the half finished carving of what looked to be like _his_ face in marble.

He stared at it dumbly for a moment and then blinked.

"That's, er . . . that's me."

She nodded.

"Isn't it _marvelous_? Fudge requested it and everyone thought it was a great idea. But you're the most important critic of all."

She looked at him expectantly and he wondered what she'd think if he told her he hated it. First of all, it didn't look a thing like him. He was older and definitely more good-looking in marble. Secondly, why the bloody _hell_ would anyone want to make a statue of him? Was everyone really that obsessed with the Boy-Who-Lived? Apparently so.

Thank God Snape and Remus had made their way over and saved him from having to answer.

"What part of 'we're in bit of a hurry' did you not understand?" Snape demanded.

Elaine looked up at him and rolled her eyes.

"Really, what could be so important that Mr. Potter would want to miss this?" She waved absently at the fountain.

"Lots of things," Harry muttered.

He really, he decided, needed to get his eyes checked because the look Snape shot him wasn't hateful it was almost . . . amused.

"Trust us," Remus told her, obviously irritated since he was using his 'don't try my patience' voice. "This is much more important than whatever you're building over here."

"This happens to be a statue of Harry Potter at the request of the Minister and I felt that _the_ Harry Potter ought to have a look," she said indignantly.

The three of them looked at her like she was crazy and then turned on their heels and walked away.

"Wait!" she called. "What do you think about it!"

"I hate it!" he yelled back at her over his shoulder.

"B-but . . ." she trailed off and was left watching them leave, deflated.

"She is really quite annoying," Remus said was they made their way to the room the meeting would be held in.

"She's always been annoying," Snape added.

"We went to school with her," Remus explained. "Hufflepuff. Her intentions are good but . . . she's pushy."

Snape's lip curled and he made a 'psh' sound.

"If she were any more pushy she'd have a job with the Daily Prophet and be named 'Rita Skeeter'."

He was really getting a bit scared at that point. Everything was just a bit too . . . weird what with Snape not being a complete bastard and a statue of, well, _him_ being carved and chiseled in the middle of the Ministry of Magic. Of course, that was around the time they reached their designated room and they walked inside and there was Draco Malfoy looking bruised and broken and the whole situation was so disgustingly horrid that everything seemed back to normal. That was, he decided, very fucked up, actually.

There were a number of people in the room, a few who he recognized and that looked at him with carefully neutral frowns. In their midst was Fudge, looking flustered and angry as usual. He figured things were bound to be worse, what with a new Minister being chosen soon and a war going on and all. Which was why he wasn't surprised when he didn't respond to Snape's demands of why exactly Malfoy was in bound and under a silencing spell with a shake of his head.

"This is a _war_," he said. "Any and all threats are to be treated with the utmost severity."

"Yes but this is a bit _harsh_," Remus said, his tone aiming for neutrality but hitting the mark somewhere near disapproval and downright chastisement.

"You may think so but when it comes to it, the safety of the people is the most important thing and this . . . boy threatened that safety and had to be dealt with."

"He didn't do anything, though!" he finally burst out, tired of the conversation going over his head.

Malfoy, who had been staring beseechingly at Snape for the past few minutes looked over at him sharply.

"Everyone witnessed the two of you talking . . ."

"Yeah, I know," he interrupted. "But it was different. We called a truce."

Fudge scoffed.

"We've got enough people willing to testify that this boy hates you, Harry. He's treated you badly, tried to get you expelled many times . . . and he just wanted to call a truce with you?"

He smirked to himself and caught Malfoy's eye.

"He still hates me," he said. "As much as ever, really. But we've grown up a bit. That's why we called the truce."

Fudge hesitated and then nodded.

"And that's the truth of it? He didn't wish to harm you?"

"No he didn't."

There was a small amount of tittering from the others in the room while Fudge paled slightly and Snape practically pounced on him.

"Now that that's settled, I'd like to raise the question of your treatment of Mr. Malfoy," he said. "It seems to me you put him through more of an inquisition than an inquiry."

Fudge's gaze skittered away and he swallowed.

"We only had him in custody for two days . . ."

"Long enough to give him a black eye, it would look like."

"He fell . . . it wasn't . . ."

"A likely story," Snape shot back sarcastically. "I'll be speaking to Mrs. Malfoy about this, believe me."

Someone cleared their throat and Fudge started a bit before nodded.

"Yes . . . well, er, there's a bit of a problem there. You see . . . Narcissa Malfoy is currently under a Ministry mandated psychological evaluation at St. Mungo's. What with Lucius Malfoy having been arrested due to his involvement with the Death Eater's and her son's presumed involvement with the aforementioned, she's being examined at St. Mungo's for traces of Imperius. Her parental capacity is also being examined."

He glanced over at Malfoy who was looking as shocked as he felt. He blinked several times, shook his head once and then shot up from his chair and charged at Fudge.

"Restrain him!" the Ministry cried, taking a step back.

It happened too fast for anyone to follow, but Malfoy was stunned and fell back against Harry, twitching slightly.

Snape growled and made a move toward Fudge but Remus held onto his arms and frowned at the Minister.

"Where will he go?" he demanded.

"He'll remain in government custody until . . ."

"No."

Fudge blinked at Snape and lifted an eyebrow.

"Excuse me?"

"I said no. He'll come with us."

Fudge shook his head and gave a small laugh.

"Oh, that's just not possible."

Snape smirked at him.

"Oh, but it is. Potter, we're leaving."

He nodded and looked down at the boy in his arms.

"Can you walk?"

Malfoy started to nod, hesitated and then nodded anyway. He managed well enough, though there was a pained look on his face and he stumbled into the dark-haired boy a couple of times on the way out of the room. Remus and Snape flanked them at the back and they ignored the outraged cries of Fudge.

"You can't do this!" he shrieked and Snape turned to him.

"You're in no position to tell us what we can and can't do. I doubt the public would be happy to hear about the action you've taken and if you're not careful they'll know by tomorrow morning. In exquisite detail."

They walked on with Fudge yelling something about empty threats and blackmail and Azkaban. But they weren't empty. Remus removed the spell from Malfoy and Snape walked between the two boys and leaned down.

"Potter, I want you to talk to Granger and I want her to get a hold of Skeeter."

He nodded and shivered a bit at the twin smirks that twisted the lips of his enemies. But then, he could have sworn he was smirking a bit too.


	14. Chapter Twelve

Feel

By: Lady DeathAngel

Disclaimer: not mine, not profiting, 'nuff said.

Warnings: none

A/N: Wow. These next two chapters just shot right outta me. Bam! There they were. All ready and waiting to be written. The next chapter I've planned slightly. I'm not quite sure where this is going. Harry is having a bit of an identity crisis right now so where he ends up for the time being is up in the air. I know where I want him, lol, but we'll see if what I want is what this story wants for itself. Anyway, please read, enjoy and review!

Malfoy was about as happy to be at Order headquarters as everyone was to have him. Which was to say, not happy at all. At least he kept his complaints to himself for the most part. Ron and Hermione were shocked but it made sense. His father was in prison, probably not for much longer but still, and now his mother was under a mandatory psychological examination. It was a lot to take in, even for Malfoy.

The only real problem that Harry had was the amount of space that the blonde seemed to occupy. It was almost as if every nook or cranny he'd taken to hiding in before Malfoy had shown up had, in the span of thirteen hours, been invaded. The study he went to for time to himself, the space under the stairs where he could play with Nyx without worrying about getting in Mrs. Weasley's way and even his bedroom were now Malfoy territory as well.

The second time he went looking for a place to be alone and bumped into him he sighed loudly and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Is there any particular reason as to _why_ you're everywhere?" he asked the figure sprawled on the sofa.

Malfoy looked up at him from the book he was flipping through and shrugged.

"No."

Harry shook his head and turned on his heel.

"You know, you don't have to vacate a room just because I'm in it," Malfoy told his back. "Granted, I have as much trouble stomaching the sight of you, but considering for the next

week I'll be living with you in such close quarters . . ." he trailed off and Harry turned to see him flipping idly through the book.

"Er . . . well, I was just looking to be alone, that's all," he said with shrug.

Malfoy snorted.

"What? Finally tired of your adoring public? Looking for a place to hide so you don't have to sign more autographs for the Weasel? Really, Potter, that's just rude. It is for charity you know. Their rubbish might actually be worth something with your pretty little signature on it."

"Not that you care," he shot back. "But there are other reasons for me to want to be alone."

The blonde looked up at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh? And just what horrors could possibly chase the Wizarding world's shining beacon of hope into the shadows beneath the stairs?"

Harry cocked his head to the side.

"Why so interested? Going to take notes? Write a letter to Voldemort telling him that ickle Harry Potter wanted time to himself? I'm scared. Really."

Malfoy gave him a searching look and then smirked.

"You know . . . you were the first person to do that."

Harry frowned.

"Do what? Defeat Voldemort?"

He rolled his eyes.

"No. Well, yes, but no. Talk back to me. No one had dared to do it before you and then you did it. Over and over. Stupid little boy that you were."

"Still am."

"What?"

"I'm still a stupid little boy."

Malfoy shook his head.

"Oh no. Don't go all maudlin on me, Potter. The world isn't your responsibility and every bad thing that happens isn't your fault. You give yourself way too much credit." He turned back to his book. "Now, if that's the attitude you're going to take, oh Martyr of the Modern Age, leave me alone."

He stared at the blonde who was either fixedly ignoring him or had really completely dismissed his presence and then sighed to himself and settled down on the floor.

"You're not going to pollute my air with that self-sacrificing shit are you?" Malfoy asked.

Harry turned his head to look at him.

"No."

"Good. Because you're not the only one bad stuff happens to. I can certainly see why it seems that way, what with everyone around here except for Snape and Lupin acting like it's a bloody holiday every day . . ." He trailed off and shuddered. "Aren't these people ever too happy for you?" he asked.

He shrugged.

"Sometimes."

Malfoy muttered something about that being the normal response to such constant optimism and didn't say anything for a few more minutes. Harry took the chance to study him, watched his eyes skimming the pages of whatever book had managed to capture his rapt attention, took in the almost imperceptible lines etched into his face. Lines of stress and who knew what else. Pain maybe. Anger definitely. He bit his lip and then looked away.

"D'you think . . ." He paused and then continued. "Are they going to let you see her? Your mum I mean."

Malfoy didn't look up.

"And why would you care?" he asked. "It's not as if you're concerned for her well-being."

He wanted to say something like, 'how would you know'? But he knew Malfoy wouldn't let something like that convince him that he cared about his mother at all and really, he wasn't sure if he did or not. What he did know was that this was insane what Fudge was doing. It wasn't right. And he said so.

"Yes, well, Fudge is an idiot, isn't he?" Malfoy muttered.

They were silent for a few more minutes before the blonde spoke again.

"She's strong," he said softly. "My father always says it about her. She can handle anything. She'll be okay."

Harry nodded even though he knew Malfoy wasn't looking, and even though he was pretty sure that he wasn't the one his enemy was trying to convince.


	15. Chapter Thirteen

Feel

By: Lady DeathAngel

Disclaimer: not mine, not profiting, 'nuff said.

Warnings: none

A/N: wow, these chapters just flowed out. And in celebration of my 50th review I've given you two to indulge in! Hope you like. As always please read, enjoy and review (and thanks soooo much for the feedback so far. I love you all to pieces for it!)

Hermione really wasn't sure she'd ever imagined a scenario that involved living under the same roof for any amount of time with Draco Malfoy. Sure they sort of lived together at Hogwarts, but that didn't count. There were plenty of hours at school that didn't involve bumping into Malfoy or sitting next to him at dinner or catching him wandering around the hallways in the morning practically naked because Ginny and Ron had stolen his clothes.

Not only was it nigh on impossible to _not_ see the little ferret but she was damned sure that any scenario she _may_ have imagined involving living under the same roof for any amount of time with Draco Malfoy did _not_ involve him being so . . . well, nice was too loose a word for it but tolerable at least.

He helped Mrs. Weasley in the kitchen when she asked, he helped close the curtains over the portrait of Sirius' mother when Tonks knocked something over, he was polite at dinner and he hadn't called her 'Mudblood' more than once in the past three days. Even then it'd been a slip and Ron had hexed him and he'd come back after having Lupin take care of it with a sort of apology and a promise to refer to her sort of nicely until the school term started.

All in all, she was extremely creeped out. Like when they were all in Ron's room and Malfoy sauntered in with Nyx in his arms purring so loudly they all looked up with raised eyebrows.

"Are you aware," he asked Harry. "That Lady Scarhead likes to eat socks?"

Harry nodded and then frowned.

"Lady Scarhead?"

"Well, she does look like you doesn't she, Scarhead?"

"Sod off, Ferret," Harry shot back but it was said lightly and left Hermione frowning severely while Ron just shook his head and muttered about temporary insanity and how if he just closed his eyes it would all go away.

"Sorry," Malfoy said pleasantly. "But I sincerely doubt that."

There was a moment of slightly awkward silence before Malfoy sighed and looked at Harry.

"Snape's off gallavanting for a good cause, apparently, and I'm afraid if I'm alone too long your sister and that Tonks woman will make good on their threat to charm my hair pink."

Harry smirked.

"Why Malfoy, are you asking if you can hang out with us?"

The blonde looked affronted.

"Of course not! I'm asking if I can hide out in here." He batted his eyelashes. "I promise I'll be good. I won't even hex your cat for reducing my favorite pair of socks to a pile of threads."

They ended up spending a shockingly pleasant afternoon together. There was plenty for the boys to talk about what with them being the Quidditch fans they were and she was able to settle back with a book and listen as Ron and Malfoy argued over which Chaser strategy was most effective. She did put it down in interest when Ron asked Harry what his opinion was and he admitted to not knowing the difference. Malfoy looked at him like he'd sprouted an extra head identical to Snape's but Ron just sighed and explained that Harry didn't get to see or even hear about matches this time of year because of his aunt and uncle.

Which, of course, sent Malfoy into a dissertation of the horrors of Muggle living. He talked like a pro and even Ron was looking impressed. Hermione and Harry, however, collapsed against each other laughing when he messed up the names of every appliance he brought up, much like Ron and Mr. Weasley tended to do.

After a few minutes in which Malfoy and Ron asked just how Hermione and Harry managed, the boys went back to talking Quidditch and explained the strategies to Harry and then had a debate about what worked best. When they got tired of just talking, Ron took out his chess set. Malfoy, to give him credit, only said one bad thing about its condition.

"Hey!" Ron protested when he commented on how old it was. "It's a good chess set."

The pieces squawked their agreement.

"I'm not saying it isn't," Malfoy retorted. "I used to have a chess set like this but my dad thought I'd like a new one better and decided to surprise me by throwing it out and taking me shopping." He glowered. "I still hate that set. The pieces are so temperamental."

The game commenced without further incident. The boys started talking about the House teams as Ron and Malfoy played and wondered who'd be captains now that most of them had graduated.

"I bet they make you a captain, Potter," Malfoy said, studying the chessboard.

Harry shook his head.

"I hope not. I think I've got enough to deal with already. Besides, I haven't exactly set a good example."

"But McGonnagal likes you," Ron pointed out.

"What about Slytherin?" Harry asked, changing the subject.

Malfoy shrugged.

"I'm not one for good strategy, coming up with it anyway. But Snape reckons I'm the most Quidditch savvy on the team and since my grades have been all right and I stayed out of trouble last year, for the most part, I may be captain."

They left that subject and after a while there was no talking at all. When Hermione looked up to make sure they were all still breathing she saw they were all staring at the board intently.

"What's going on?" she whispered to Harry.

"They're really good, that's what's going on," he answered.

She watched for a few minutes and realized they were, indeed, locked in a battle that she and Harry could never hope to put up. They were all so involved with the game that when Fred and George appeared in the room with a loud pop all four of them jumped and at least two of them cursed loudly.

"Dammit!" Ron cried. "Do you _always_ have to do that?"

"What?" Fred said with a raised eyebrow. "Are we interrupting something?"

"Having a little party?" George asked.

"And we weren't invited? Shame."

Ron rolled his eyes.

"What do you want?"

"Letter came for you," George said, turning to Hermione.

"From that Skeeter woman," Fred added.

"Thought you ought to know," they said in unison before popping back out of the room.

They all stared at the spot the twins had been standing in for a moment before Malfoy spoke.

"Bloody hell, they nearly gave me a heart attack."

The other three nodded in agreement and then Hermione stood.

"Well? Shall we see what she has to say?"

"Yeah," Malfoy said, standing.

Ron and Harry followed them up and out of the room. Halfway down the stairs Hermione heard Ron talking to Malfoy and smiled to herself.

"I want a rematch," he was saying. "You're the first good opponent I've had in ages."

"Yes well, they can be hard to find."

Hermione, who was getting rather good at interpreting stubborn boy-speak, translated that as meaning, 'You're on.'


	16. Chapter Fourteen

Feel

By: Lady DeathAngel

Disclaimer: not mine, not profiting, 'nuff said.

Warnings: none

A/N: woohoo, another chapter! Enjoy the frequent updates while they last because who knows when my plot bunnies will leave me?

Somewhere in the Three Broomsticks a man and a woman were singing something in loud slurring tones and two tables over a suspicious bundle of robes was collapsed on the table top and snoring. Harry wasn't paying much attention to any of it, though. He was too busy eyeing the woman in front of him in apprehension and ignoring Malfoy who was taking random sips of Snape's firewhiskey.

He didn't know what it was that had him so apprehensive. Maybe it was the fact that of all the articles ever written about him by Rita Skeeter she'd only done one right. She was glaring at him, too, and drumming her long, acidic green finger nails on the worn wood of the table. In all honesty, she was just creepy. He appreciated her telling his story to the world, he really did. But once had been more than enough. It really had.

"Sorry, we're a bit late," a husky voice said from behind them.

Harry didn't turn to look as Remus pulled up a chair next to him and Hermione took her spot by Skeeter so that she could make sure she told the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help her.

"A bit late?" she said with an arched eyebrow.

"Yes," Remus said with a cold glance in her direction. "But we can start now. If you're ready?"

She glared at him, her intense dislike for him apparent. But she didn't waste any more time, pulling out her quill and looking at both Malfoy and Harry.

"So, we'll start with what really happened when you two met at Diagon Alley."

The two boys nodded and after a shared look, Harry started. Once he got to the point where he'd run into Malfoy, the blonde took over.

"I didn't expect to see him there," he said. "I've only seen Potter outside of school twice and the first time he was just some scrawny kid buying robes . . . you were a complete nit-wit, you know," he told Harry with a smirk. "Didn't know a thing about anything."

"Obviously. I _did_ spend most of my life in a closet you know," he said.

Malfoy shrugged.

"Whatever. Anyway, when I saw him I figured it was as good a time as any to talk to him. In fact, I figured it'd be better. At least then we'd be away from prying eyes."

"And look at how well _that_ turned out," Harry muttered.

Malfoy shot him a look but continued.

"So I walked up to him and asked to talk to him and we went into the Leaky Cauldron."

"And what did you two talk about?"

"I called a truce."

Skeeter blinked at him and then shook her head with a smirk.

"Oh _please_! Even I don't believe that! I still remember you and your little friends from your fourth year, always salivating when the chance to bring down the Boy-Who-Lived presented itself."

"Well, sure. I mean, I don't _like_ him or anything," he said nonchalantly, and Harry nodded his agreement. "But I've got too much to deal with right now. Adding 'humiliate Harry Potter without incriminating self, multiple times if necessary' to my list of things to do didn't seem prudent."

"And you?" Skeeter said, turning to Harry. "You believed him?"

"Yeah," he answered. "I did."

She rolled her eyes and her next question was asked with a derisive curl to her lips.

"Why would you believe your _rival_ of _five years_ would suddenly want to turn a new leaf?"

"Because he doesn't want to turn a new leaf, he just wants to grow up. And it's time we started doing it since we're in the middle of a war. And anyway, I could tell he meant it."

She snorted.

"Was it the '_look in his eyes_'?" she asked in a mocking tone.

Harry glanced sideways at Malfoy and shrugged.

"Actually, yeah."

Skeeter shook her head and even Hermione, Remus and Snape were looking at the two of them like they had pus-oozing boils all over their faces.

"Right, well, onto the rest of this unbelievable story . . . what happened to you after the meeting?"

Malfoy frowned.

"They came to our house, Ministry officials and the odd Auror or two. Mum was scared. She didn't know what they wanted with us anymore. They'd been condemning our estates across Europe, not to mention most of our relatives' and they'd thrown my dad in Azkaban. What more could they possibly want, she asked them. They said they had some questions and that they needed to take me with them to a holding cell in Azkaban but that I'd only be there until I answered their questions.

A few of the House Elves protested it. They said it wasn't right, what they were doing to our family. Mum was furious. She yelled that I wasn't of age yet and that Azkaban wasn't necessary and that she'd fight them to save her family. They bound me and put a silencing spell on me and mum was crying and the House Elves were shrieking and they threatened to stun them all. I wanted to say something to her . . . anything to make her stop crying. I would have said anything to make it better." He paused and looked away. "I reckon," he said softly. "She was like that when they hauled my dad away. But this time it broke her. Or maybe it didn't. They won't tell me anything about her."

Harry watched as Malfoy and Snape shared an unreadable look and he heard Hermione sniffle next to Skeeter. He, himself, was reminded of his own mum's screams to save his life. It had to be the same, in a way. It had to be haunting and heart-wrenching to hear one's mother crying or screaming for her child.

A loud tap-tap-tapping slit through the heavy silence as Skeeter rapped her fingernails against her glass and Malfoy shot a glare at the journalist.

"After that," he said a bit more coldly than before. "They took me by portkey to Azkaban. I had wondered how they kept their prisoners in there with no Dementers to terrorize them into obedience and I'm still not quite sure how it works when they aren't in your cell every hour on the hour with Veritaserum and other means of 'making me talk', but it doesn't look good. It smells in there and the people are all screaming so loud you just want to join them to drown it out. They've only got a few wizards in there and if they don't get everyone their meals on time or remove dead bodies for a few days it's not their problem.

They beat me and didn't feed me and made me drink so much Veritaserum I didn't know which way was up or down or left or right. I was cold and numb and they just kept asking me questions. I told them the truth. That I hate Potter and I hate the Ministry and I hate Dumbledore and all of this idealistic peace and love fodder they feed us every day. I called them hypocrites and I told them that I hadn't talked to Potter about anything other than calling a truce." He laughed humorlessly. "Is it any wonder they didn't believe me?"

"And then?"

"And then Potter rode in on his white horse along with Professor Snape and former Professor Lupin, raised hell with Fudge, took me even though those Ministry hotshots wanted to keep me in government custody and here we are!" he finished brightly.

Skeeter sighed and shook her head.

"Can't ever be a normal story with you lot, can it? Not even _I_ could have come up with something this ridiculous on my own."

"It's the truth," Harry told her coldly.

She nodded.

"Right, well, it'll be all over the Wizarding world by noon on Thursday."

"It'd better be," Hermione told her and they all stood to leave.

They left the pub in silence. There really wasn't much to say. They could only hope this article did its job.


	17. Chapter Fifteen

Feel

By: Lady DeathAngel

Disclaimer: not mine, not profiting, 'nuff said

Warnings: more angst

A/N: So, after very little thought on my part and Return/Revenge of the Plot Bunnies, I threw out the last chapter and have put this up instead. This is the final chapter in Part I of this as-yet unnamed Arc, so after this Feel is over. I've made this decision for two reasons: 1) I'm busy so getting chapters out has been a problem, not to mention the fact that I've got the SB/RL fqf to write for and several other fics to work on and 2) it felt like a good stopping point. I'd been toying with the idea of giving Feel a sequel and this worked out well for that. Part II is being tentatively named 'Serenity' and as of right now I don't know when it'll be up. I'm still sorting through my plot bunnies after their invasion so I'm not sure what Harry's school term will bring besides more Draco (hopefully more sinister this time around, but will he stay that way is the question), more Remus (with a greater emphasis on his relationship with Harry both platonic and otherwise), more Seamus (just because), and possibly a resurrection of Sirius (because, come on, we all know he'll be back so leave him out of my story? Pshaw. P-shaw). It will be darker and there may or may not be death involved (but it's highly likely) and I'm really excited. Thanks to all who've reviewed so far and keep your eyes peeled for Part II. BTW, anyone looking to beta? Drop a line. Anyway, I love you all and I can't wait to get started on Part II, so in the meantime, please read, enjoy and review!

Platform 9 3/4 was bustling with activity, as was the norm on the first train ride back to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. All over the platform, students were greeting each other enthusiastically and bidding their families farewell. It seemed like ages since the last time Harry'd been here, taking a return trip to Hogwarts. It was hard to believe that just one year before, Sirius had been bounding behind him as Padfoot, making other students laugh and enjoying somewhere other than Number 12 Grimmauld Place for the first time in months.

Now he was arriving with Hermione and Ron and Ginny in tow. Mrs. Weasley and Tonks were around somewhere as well, and the twins were selling their wares not-so-discreetly to anyone interested in buying. All over people were happy and excited and maybe a little bit scared. Everyone, it seemed, but Harry himself.

He struggled to at least put on a cheerful front. He smiled and nodded and talked as enthusiastically with Ron about the coming term as possible. But it was hard, and he had other things to contend with besides his own abject misery. Because the minute he crossed through the barrier and stepped onto the platform he was assailed by schoolmates all waving around Thursday's issue of _The Quibbler_ in his face.

"Did you know about this, Harry?" Seamus asked immediately. "I mean, Skeeter's done some awful stuff and told some pretty nasty lies, but nothing like this."

Perhaps he expected Harry to frown and ask what the bloody hell he was talking about, but he just shrugged.

"It's all true," he said.

The sandy-haired boy scoffed.

"Come _on_," he said. "You and Malfoy calling a _truce_? Hell must've frozen over when I was on holiday then."

Ron rescued him, wandering over and grabbing Harry's arm.

"Leave him alone, Seamus. It's all true, it all really happened the way they said . . . leave it be."

But he didn't, and neither did anyone else. By the time they made it onto the train and into a compartment, they had hordes of students trailing after them yelling about how this was all some nefarious scheme of Malfoy's and it couldn't possibly be true and he had to do something to make it right.

"Oh for Merlin's sake, I'll put an end to it, then," Hermione said, pinning her Prefect's badge on her robes and marching out into the fray.

Ron sighed but followed and Harry stared at the closed compartment door for several minutes before they wandered back in, Neville in tow.

"Hi, Harry," he said.

Harry nodded at him and then looked expectantly up at Ron and Hermione.

"Did you get rid of them?" he asked.

They shared a look.

"Well . . ." Ron said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. But only because Ginny found the compartment Malfoy's in and called everyone over."

Harry shrugged.

"Oh, let him deal with it then," he said, feeling surly but content that at least for a few minutes he'd have peace.

The rest of the ride went by in a quiet blur. Ginny joined them along with Luna a few minutes later and then Ron and Hermione were off on official Prefect business. Harry wasn't feeling very talkative though, so he let the others carry the conversation and instead thought about the last few days.

After meeting with Rita Skeeter it had started to hit him that he was going back to Hogwarts in less than a week, and instead of the usual excitement of going home, he was filled with apathy. It didn't matter anymore. He couldn't visit Hogsmeade, he had a curfew, and it was still questionable as to whether or not he could play Quidditch. All in all, the odds weren't in his favor and he didn't want to go back. What he wanted, more than anything, was to kill Voldemort and be done with it.

In his darker moments, alone with Nyx on his lap and Malfoy somewhere else in the room, he thought it would feel good to kill him. Not in the 'It's finally over' sense, but rather in the 'Die, bastard, die' sense. And he thought it couldn't be that hard. He'd escaped him plenty of times and luck was generally on his side. No one else's, it would seem, because the death and injury tolls around him didn't show any signs of becoming stagnant, but his at least. He could do it, he could kill him.

Malfoy thought he was being stupid.

"He's the most powerful Wizard of the age," he said with an eye roll. "Sure he's supposedly scared of Dumbledore, but for how long? You-Know-Who's stronger, smarter, and he's got no morals. You can't defeat someone who'd as soon kill you in a fair battle as drag your children into it and slaughter them in front of you. It doesn't work that way."

They didn't mention that the only way it would was if they fought back just as hard. Harry shuddered slightly when he thought of casting an Unforgivable with the intent of torturing Bellatrix and realized that he'd probably have an easier time of fighting fire with fire. It would be easier for him because he hated so much and it was a dangerous thing (reminded him, actually, of some movie Dudley and Piers had watched several times. Star Wars or something, where hate turned people into black-cloaked figures with acute asthma and made them evil).

He hadn't talked to anyone about that. He knew that Remus, at least, knew. Snape probably knew as well. But he felt that if he didn't talk about it, it wouldn't be as real. He didn't know if it becoming real would make him feel ashamed or proud or what, but at least this way it was a sort of detached amazement that he'd tried it. He was only slightly revolted, and he could ignore the twinges of excitement he got when he thought about it. It was like it had happened to someone else.

Other than those morbid thoughts, he'd spent the last few days carefully thinking about nothing but pretending to be happy. It was easier to pretend and that way no one asked questions. Ron and Hermione didn't pressure him, though he spent quite a lot of time with them, resting with his head in Hermione's lap, her fingers laced with Ron's in his hair, just feeling content despite the fact that all three of them worried about what would happen this year. He saw Snape once and he said he'd send word for him when his Occlumency lessons were to start.

"It will be as soon as possible, Potter, so don't get too comfortable," he'd said.

He had one last conversation with Malfoy, two days before they were going to leave.

He'd been sitting in the drawing room, staring at a book but not reading a single word of it, when the blonde had practically stumbled in.

"Just spent half an hour with Snape picking at my brain," he said in answer to the unasked question. He flopped gracefully onto the couch across from Harry. "Father told me he was a skilledLegilimens and I know I've felt him poking around in there before, but this time it was definitely more intense."

"Why was he doing that?"

Malfoy shrugged.

"To make sure I don't know too much. After all, I've been holed up behind enemy lines. If I wanted to get into You-Know-Who's good graces, I'd have found out all about your plots to bring about justice, I'd have seduced you to the dark side so I could deliver you to him with a silver collar on begging for the Mark, and . . . let's see . . . I'd have planned to kill Granger and all the Weasley brood . . . I'd be taking Lupin to him since he could probably find some use for a werewolf . . ."

Harry smirked.

"You'd have seduced me to the dark side and sent me to him with a silver collar?"

Malfoy smirked back.

"Yes well, we'd make a lovely couple don't you think? You'd also look _fabulous_ in a silver collar. Kink _is_ all the rage in the social scenes of the youthful. Not to mention how delightful it would be. Son of disgraced Death Eater and insane mother seduces Boy-Who-Lived and gets him to take the Dark Mark and pledge his fealty to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I'd be even more famous than I already am."

"You're ridiculous," Harry commented drily.

"Yes, but _fabulously_ so," he shot back sarcastically.

They were quiet for a few minutes before Harry spoke again.

"Why'd he do it, really?" he asked softly. "I mean, you already know too much. About us and Snape . . . even if you don't know details."

Malfoy frowned and looked away.

"Snape explained it all to me," he said, carefully nonchalant. "So your lot has nothing to worry about. I only know what he told me and it wasn't much."

It was a very vague answer and Harry suspected there was more to the story than he was being told, but he didn't press the issue, and anyway, Malfoy changed the subject.

"I just thought you should know things haven't changed much. The truce still stands but we aren't friends or friendly acquaintances or anything of the sort. I don't like Granger or Weasley or you or Dumbledore or any of your other justice cadging friends."

"Yeah, I know," he said. "And that's how it'll always be."

Malfoy stood up and stretched a bit.

"One can only hope," he said in complete seriousness. "See you around, Potter."

And then he was gone. He left with Snape that night and it was odd not seeing him around, but at least things felt slightly back to normal. The next day passed by quickly, with everyone getting their things together and a large family dinner. Remus was there and he kept shooting Harry veiled looks and the boy got the feeling his former teacher was going to seek him out. He wasn't wrong.

"Harry, I'd like to speak with you," he said in his hoarse voice after dinner.

He had no reason to refuse, so he went to Remus' study with him and sat uncertainly in the chair in front of his desk. Remus leaned his hip on the edge and raked a hand through his hair.

"Look, about . . . when . . ." He sighed and then started over. "It's not your fault," he said gravely. "I know that I made you think that _I_ think it's your fault but I don't and it's not. Sirius did what he wanted to do because he loved you and he wanted to help you. Some people say it was because he felt useless in the Order and that's a part of it, but Albus always told him that he had to bide his time for when you needed him most and he couldn't just sit back and wait around here for news of whether you'd lived or died. It wasn't his way."

"If he hadn't loved me then it wouldn't have happened," Harry told him, not quite able to keep himself from saying it. "If he hadn't cared he'd still be alive."

Green eyes widened when Remus' hands came down heavily on his shoulders.

"Don't say that. Don't you dare even think it. Don't take what Sirius had for you and make light of it. _He loved you_. Just like James loved you, just like Lily loved you. You're too young to understand, Harry, but that kind of love isn't turned off and on and it isn't rational in the way everyone wants it to be. Someday you'll love someone and you'll know what it's like to care so much you'd die for that person to get just one more shot at happiness because that's all you'll really want. For them to be happy."

"But I'm not!" he screamed, wrenching away from Remus. "I'm _not_ happy. The only family I've ever known hates me and the one shot I had at having a real family is gone. I have to watch my friends suffer because some madman's out there ruining their lives and they're all living in fear and I'm their only hope. _Me_, a sixteen-year-old kid who's got to kill the most powerful wizard in the world right now, or be killed by him. What have I got to be happy about?"

Remus' frown was so severe he looked years younger and much stronger and more like a man to be feared than Harry'd ever seen him.

"How about the fact that your best friends are still around and still by your side? You've got people who love you. And yes, it's a lot to have put on your shoulders at your age, but you're not the only one being forced to grow up ahead of his time. You're not the first either. Sirius, your father and mother, _me_, we all had to grow up too fast. None of us wanted that for you, you've got to believe that. And it kills me and it killed Sirius to watch you have to go through this but you're not alone. You can do this and you can survive this, but you've got to let yourself grow up enough to accept it and let the ones who love you, help you."

Harry looked away and swallowed past the lump in his throat.

"I don't want to lose anyone else," he said softly. "I won't have anything to live for if I lose everyone I care about."

"Don't take their sacrifices lightly," Remus told him sternly. "And don't try to make their decisions for them. If they love you enough to die for you and it's the only choice they have, it's not up to you to tel them they can't do it."

He thought about what Ron had said weeks before. About how he meant more to them than just the future of the world. How he'd die for him, not because of him. And maybe Remus was right. He was too young to understand what that felt like, but he had to try because he couldn't go on like this.

"Maybe," Harry said slowly. "I mean . . . can I write you?"

It sounded almost like a change of subject, but Remus understood and nodded. Harry would make the effort, the same way he'd started to with Ron and Hermione and it wouldn't be too bad to have someone there who understood him better than his best friends did. Someone who'd known his parents and Sirius and who could tell him about them. Someone who was always supportive but didn't coddle him. Someone who made him feel safe and so much more than he was, older and stronger but with all the potential in the world to become even greater.

He sat in the train car, listening to Neville and Ginny and Luna argue over something and he was still dreading going back because everything that had made up his life was gone or subject to change. Ron and Hermione weren't there to talk to and even then, it would be a while before he was comfortable telling them everything. But there was always Remus and the fact that making the effort wasn't that hard at all, not when there was so much to be said and someone so willing to listen.

Luna lent him a spare bit of parchment and a quill and making himself comfortable, Harry wrote.


End file.
